Greensleeves - the comeback tour

She's back, it's almost as if she's never been away

The stagger is almost imperceptible at this time of day: one could put it down to tiredness or the height of her heels, and she does wear very high heels. Her shoes are like Dorothy's ruby slippers, but a bright emerald green and she totters through the world five inches above ground level. But when one looks at her eyes, and the surface of the coffee in the cup she is holding, you realise that not only her shoes are to blame for her physical fragility. 30 years of nights so late that they are early morning have taken their toll, and her drinking is, of course, notorious. You wonder whether it is a sign of integrity or weakness that she has never once tried to dry out.

Greensleeves is one of that long line of chanteuses like Edith Piaf, Billy Holiday, Janice Joplin and now Amy Winehouse where the fascination is not only with the raw pain of their singing and with the extremes of the life story which generated that pain, Greensleeves is one of those performers who - when you see her live - you watch mesmerised to discover whether or not she is going to make it through the evening in intact. You are aware that any night could be The night, the one which is written about in her biography as the night she finally fell apart on stage.

She is not in Piaf's or Holiday's or Joplin's league of course. The voice was never sweet, and 30 years of singing 8 hours a night in cabarets have affected her throat as badly as a two-pack-a-day habit would have done. But she has an undeniable presence and she dearly loves to make an entrance, and she is not above sending herself up. There were, for years, the rumours that she was in fact a man in drag. She has the sequinned dresses, the improbable hair, the pound and a half of make up one third of which is mascara. She has the shoes - she really has the shoes. But off the stage she is less flamboyant and more desperate. The vulnerablility is real and not a defence, and there isn't an ounce of bitchiness or vice in her.

Her personal history is shrouded and you realise that this is not discretion; it may in fact be forgetfulness. When asked how old she is she looks confused rather than evasive. When asked about lovers she looks fond and rather sad, but she sometimes muddles them up in the stories that she tells. She is clearly very very kindhearted, and somewhere in the alcohol-clouded daze she can think, but it's degenerated to a careful focus on the present and a rather myopic stare at whatever is in front of her. She loses the thread. The one constant which runs through almost all her public appearances is a deep and abiding loathing for trolls and most of her songs are - one way or another - dedicated to defusing situations which have become troll-bound.

It is simplest, really, to conclude with some songs and an advertisement for her only CD. One night, when it is late, and you are tired, put it on. There is no better bitter-sweet company for the two-in-the-morning blues.

First I was afraid,
I was petrified.
Kept thinking I could never live
without H2 as my Guide,
and I spent so many nights
thinking how I'd be alone.
I would moan
On skype and on the phone.
But we’ve escaped
from Auntie Beeb,
I just walked in and am amazed
by what has been achieved!
I'm so glad that I came back
and will keep my own ID
(best viewed in Alabaster).
We are back and will be free!

Come back here, do!
Walk in the door.
Just come back home now,
H2 is safe forever more.
No need to worry about turning out the lights,
no need to hoover
no need to vacuum ev'ry night.
No not at all.
So lettuce spry.
As long as we know who to blame
we’ll fool around and play.
We've got all our lives to live,
we've got our words to give,
and we'll survive.
We will survive.

It took all the strength I had
not to fall apart,
I kept mailing google groups
and tried to make a start.
And I spent oh so many nights
reading emails from myself,
I used to cry.
Now the site is flying high!
And here we are!
Still using goo
and not that nasty barley-thinghy
(apostrophising poo).
We had to work like bloody trojans
to convince the BBC.
Now we’re doing all our writing
on a site that’s flying free!

Come back here, do!
Walk in the door!
Just come back home now,
H2 is safe forever more.
We miss everyone who’s gone away and said ‘adieu’.
Come back from FaceBook,
Come back and write for Peer Review,
ah yes, you too!
We will survive,
as long as we know how to type
we'll grow and we will thrive.
We've got all our lives to live,
we've got our words to give
and we'll survive.
We will survive.

Quite for no reason
I'm online for a season
And typing all night
With internet wierdies
Hippies and beardies
Which cannot be right.
Everyone's here
- and ready to play,
Nobody cares
- what people say,
'Cos the Atelier's
's really much merrier
and Facebook seems trite.
Online last night -

I went to a marvellous party
With GT and Taffy and Tod
It was over at Lil's
Full of gossip and thrills
And Z prescribed pills
Which was odd.
Titania was wakeful at midnight
And carried on posting till four
We knew the excitement was bound to begin
When Ag reminisced about parents and sin
And Teuchter cracked open the tonic and gin
I couldn't have liked it more.

I went to a marvellous party
I must say the fun was intense
Bluebottle returned
And the rest of us learned
Where he'd been, whither and whence.
Bald Bloke and Phil went off drinking
But building befuddled B4,
Young Mags had a secret and summery kiss
And Beatrice was moving which pleased her young miss
While Santra keeps posting from that place and this
I couldn't have liked it more.

I went to a marvellous party
The Imp had a go at the Bird
You'd never have guessed
From reading the rest
What's happened chez Happy Nerd.
It snowed really hard on the Thinker
But KerrAvon said it would thaw.
The Owl spent a couple of nights as the boss
There've been updates from Scotland from Pedros Ecosse
But Marv got locked out, we're bewailing his loss,
I couldn't have liked it more.

Lovely Solnushka
And her babushka
Warm up our hearts
But where is dear Milla
While clever Lentilla
Is making her masks?
And sadly life is
- harder yet
For the charming
- Space Cadette
And still pretty Shitty
For darling Witty
So we all spend our time
With each other on line...

I went to a marvellous party
The Mysterious Stranger was there.
Egon dropped by
And Strangely was high
And B'El reminded us all how to share.
Poor Mini is suffering migraines
And Sporky is suffering more
Hypatia's been stranded out in the cold
Mol's eldest daughter has made her feel old
FG I'm certain rocked when she rolled
I couldn't have liked it more.

I went to a marvellous party,
Runes has a wonderful coat
MR asked a question
and made a suggestion
that put modernists up for a vote.
Though Bookmouse has left us so sadly,
d'Elephant returned to the Shore,
Young Vip did the right thing and gritted her path
Mr D dropped by once or twice for a laugh
And Ben started knitting a moebius scarf
I couldn't have liked it more.

I went to a marvellous party
So many beginnings and ends
The Ant's done a bunk
With Eats Mice and the Monk
Which is why we should toast "Absent Friends"
But Amy delivered young Notepad
And V has accepted our lure.
J'au-aemne arrived last but not least
Poor Lilac's away fighting the beast
But Tonks has returned so our number's increased
I couldn't have liked it more.

I went to a marvellous party
Bagpuss is looking for work
While Kelli returned
And we all learned
That GDZ's boss is a jerk.
We talked about growing old gracefully
And Lil, who can't feel the floor
Said, "A, it's a question of being sincere,
And B, if you're supple you've nothing to fear".
Then she swung upside down from a glass chandelier,
I COULDN'T have liked it more.

Isn't it rich?
What a great site!
Me here alone at my desk,
Having a fight.
Send in the trolls.

Isn't it fun?
Don't you approve?
One who keeps posting such trash,
us, who can't move.
Where are the trolls?
Send in the trolls.

Just when I'd stopped reading that thread,
Finally knowing the bulls**t they're posting is trite,
Something offensive and stupid catches my eye,
I must hit 'post'.
I must reply.

Don't you love farce?
Our fault I fear.
We think that what we write matters.
That there's a "here" here.
But where are the trolls?
Quick, send in the trolls.
Don't bother, they're there.

Isn't it rich?
Isn't it queer,
Reading and posting this late
Into the night?
And where are the trolls?
There ought to be trolls.
I love a good fight.

These Foolish Things

The post that's pulled when it has just been written
The hand that fed, but that has now been bitten
The yikes button that has "hit the tit" on
These foolish things
Remind me of you - de - you
you - de - you
you - de - you
you.

The homophobe that claims we're all fascists
The closed Atelier, the home of artists
The old-time users who are on his blacklists
Remind me of you - de - you
you - de - you
you - de - you
you

The tolerance that's flung back in our faces
The prurience that hates those young embraces
The trolling posts that shut the resting places
These foolish things
Remind me of you - de you
you - de - you
you - de - you
you

The acts of spite and the vile agression
Which exploited such a droll confession,
The claim to be "a victim of opression"
These foolish things
Remind me of you - de you
you - de - you
you - de - you
you

The bitterness, the spite, the rancour,
The recognition after which you hanker,
The flatulence of such a wasted ... canker
These foolish things
Remind me of you - de you
you - de - you
you - de - you
you

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