April’S Fool

By Sid Wright

By twenty-two, Jacob Day had been ambitiously pegged as the next Bob Dylan. By twenty-five, he was working as a cleaner.

Aprils Fool follows Jacob for one year as he looks to reclaim, rectify, and refine a life he once had.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris UK
• Release date: Nov 3, 2017
• ISBN: 9781543487916

Sid Wright

RGT Guitar and Ukulele Tutor. Creator of Strumpluck. International singer/songwriter. Cartoonist. Illustrator. Author

Book preview

February 2012

Both Ellie May and music had gone from Jacob’s life. All he had now was a reputation and, unhappy with this, he became a recluse. He kept his head down and got himself a job as a cleaner, somewhere he could hide away. He worked for an outdoor activities centre for people with disabilities and in time he got over Ellie May.

Sarah, Tracey and Amy helped enormously with this.

April 2013

Just as he had with music, Jacob gave up on relationships.

He swore off women for exactly one year.

The extracts you are about to read are from the diary of Jacob Day.

The following takes place between the 1st of April 2014 and the 1st of April 2015 as Jacob searches for rectification, refinement and reclamation.

This book is about people.

A relatable reminder that we’re a ridiculous species.

Spring

April

1st April 2014

I’ve just read that if you have one foot in the past and one foot in the future, then you’re pissing on the present. What’s scary is how quickly a year can go by and my last one has left me rather wet. I also read this today, take a look…

Anna and Boris Kozlov had been married for just three days when they had to bid farewell to each other. Boris was leaving to fight in the Red Army and all Anna could do was hope for his return. While Boris was away, Stalin exiled Anna and her family to Siberia and she wasn’t allowed to leave word for her husband. For years Boris searched for her. They shared a home town but Anna wasn’t allowed to visit so they had lost all contact. Anna was so distraught that she even contemplated suicide. All mementos of their life together were destroyed by Anna’s mother and, in time, Anna remarried. Unknown to Anna, Boris had done the same. Many years passed and both Anna and Boris lost their spouses. Sixty years after Boris and Anna had said ‘I do’, something incredible happened. Anna was at last allowed to visit her home town and when she did she saw an elderly man in the distance. It was Boris. He had come to pay his respects at his parents’ burial site. They ran into each other’s arms, remarried and lived happily ever after.

That’s a true story.

War, a super-villain, separation – almost everything a great love story needs (couple of car chases never hurt anyone). My story is a little different; I can’t compete with war-torn Russia and Communism. My story is set in Cumbria, in a town called Cockermouth.

When people think of Cumbria they think of the Lake District, William Wordsworth, Scafell Pike, dragons, witches, racism, homophobia and incest. I hope this book goes some way to put an end to all that. People have strong ideas about the north but we’re a lovely bunch. We’re not racist or homophobic, and Two-headed Ted says incest is on the decline. Yes, we have strong imaginations but we know, deep down, that dragons aren’t real – the sacrifice we offer on the 19th of August, during the festival of Blurpelskin, is merely tradition. The same goes for witches – we know there aren’t any witches in Cumbria (we got them all). So can we put all that behind us please? Come to Cumbria, you’ll be welcomed with open arms – but if you’re foreign, black or gay, then call ahead.

Joke!

Now, without really knowing it, until it had gone, which is often the case, I had found myself in a happy place. I was in love with a woman and my career as a musician was really starting to go places. Then it was all over. Ellie May ended things and that was the first time I have been dumped. Ellie May was also my first serious relationship and I didn’t take the break-up well. But that’s not me anymore. I want to be happy again, and I need to be happy before I can make someone else happy. Therefore, over the next year, I think if I look after myself, improve myself and succeed in finding happiness for myself, then a good woman will eventually notice and want in on the action. So, from this day forward I’m going to socialise and meet new people. I’m going to read and learn at every opportunity. I’m going to take an interest in the world and be a functioning part of it. I’m going to try new things and be spontaneous. I’m going to work hard, achieve, and say yes more than I say no. Good and bad things happen to everyone; it’s the attitude of remaining positive that makes you a happy person.

I will stay positive.

3rd April 2014

As I stand in the morning rain, looking at a car, I can’t help but think to myself ‘I’m going to die in that’. Given my age and gender, it’s expected of me to have an in-depth, up-to-date, and on-tap knowledge of these magical machines, but I know nothing about cars. I don’t drive. I couldn’t tell you what make this car is or what size engine it has (and I have no idea what pony power even is). However, I am quietly confident that the colour of the car is black.

I was waiting for Jim. It’s his car. Jim and I work together as part of a domestic team that cleans for an outdoor activity centre for people with disabilities. Jim is completely bald, average in height, slightly hunched, incredibly thin and has a chin big enough you could land a plane on it. He is a very kind and caring man. He spent his childhood going through foster homes and knew nothing of love until he married. He married a woman who after ten years would have a secret affair and then leave him. She would go on to have a child with this new man and once the baby was born, that man left her. Aged sixty-three, Jim now spends his weekends helping his ex-wife around the house and running errands she can’t manage due to ill health. I don’t know many men that would do this. Jim’s generosity is rare, especially with his own health in decline.

Within the last few months, Jim’s speech has become slurred and his loss of controlled coordination makes even basic movements strenuous in execution. Jim has become angry and bitter at how life has played out for him and he is often confused and frustrated that his body won’t follow simple commands. It has been sad to see a friend change for the worse, but as I stand in the morning rain I can’t help but think to myself ‘I’m going to die in that car’.

***

If Jim doesn’t kill me then Harry might. Our domestic team is small and Harry is the only other male on it.

The man is poison.

Harry is middle-aged and a violent alcoholic who divides his time almost equally between being drunk and being hung-over. I will go to my grave not knowing why management can’t just fire him. Harry has been on the team for six years and has a list of sackable offences as big as Jim’s chin. Highlights include drinking on the job, threatening guests and being arrested on site. Harry lives in staff accommodation but has been signed off sick since New Year (with suicidal thoughts, if gossip is to be believed). He will be off sick for as long as possible, then quit and move in with his parents – which won’t last long. I don’t know what happened to Harry to end up like this but he once had a wife, two boys and a degree in fine art. The last time we spoke he threatened to throw me out of a first-floor window.

***

In charge of the team is our housekeeper, June. She is Cumbrian through and through; a short, feisty lady with a quick wit. She keeps herself behind a high wall but it’s worth the climb and once allowed in you realise how funny and sweet she really is. She is the best kind of boss and if you do your job properly then she’ll look after you. June and I share some common ground: neither of us likes almonds and someone once offered to throw her out of a first-floor window.

***

When not being threatened, we work for an organisation that changes lives. The cleaners not so much – we change bed sheets and bin bags – we change lives, time permitting.

Around ten to eleven thousand people a year undertake a pilgrimage from all corners of the country (and even further) for an unforgettable adventure of tailor-made activities including archery, horse-riding and canoeing. The cleaners don’t really interact with the guests, certainly not in the same capacity as other departments, but we like to think we contribute to their overall experience.

The team today was just June, Jim and myself. Every day at 1pm we have lunch. We get a generous hour-long break for lunch and the cleaners can often be found in the games room. This break gives the team the opportunity to get to know each other better, to put work aside and talk about subjects outside of cleaning, to share opinions on current affairs, and to voice all our hopes and fears – which is probably why Jim sleeps during lunch. With no one to talk to, I started reading to pass the time and I’ve become rather addicted. I’m currently reading Psycho by Robert Bloch, which is a suspense novel that came out in 1959. It was inspired by a strange murder case in Wisconsin, but not directly based on it. A year later the book was famously adapted into Alfred Hitchcock’s seminal film of the same name.

Augusta Gein was an odd woman. She married an alcoholic during a brief window of passion sponsored by the local brewery, and together they brought two boys into the world. The family then moved to a farm in Wisconsin purposefully to isolate her sons and the only time they left home was to attend school. She would preach to them every day and instil such ideas in them as all women being prostitutes and instruments of the devil. Her sons constantly disappointed her and she believed they would grow up to be just like their father.

Augusta’s husband died in 1940 and in 1944 she lost her first-born son. When Augusta died almost a year later, her remaining son, Edward Theodore Gein, lost his best friend and only love. We all deal with grief differently, but Ed coped by digging up recently deceased middle-aged women who resembled his mother, and cutting them up to help create a woman-suit. He even committed murder in this pursuit. When the police finally caught him and investigated the house, they stumbled upon what can only be described as the scariest yard sale imaginable. They found a waste-basket made of skin, chairs with human skin seat coverings, skulls on his bedpost, a corset made from a female torso, bowls made from human skulls, leggings made from human leg skin, nine vulvae (is that almost a full set?) in a shoe box, a belt made from female nipples and even a pair of lips on a window-shade drawstring.

If you can believe it, when Eddie was arrested he was found unfit for trial, but after confinement in a mental health facility he was later tried in 1968 and sentenced to life imprisonment. He died in 1984 of lung cancer. It’s funny to think Augusta worried he’d be a drunk.

***

Speaking of people who should be locked away in mental health facilities, I was out in Cockermouth tonight for a few drinks. Nothing really happened but I wanted to mention it because I saw my first ever kiss. I kissed a girl for the first time when I was fifteen and it was as romantic as anything that age can be. The three of us involved were seated on a park bench after school. There was me, the lucky lady, and her best friend. I had wanted to kiss this woman for some time and I can only assume she knew that by how much I took the piss out of her during maths lessons. I found the hardest part of the whole operation was keeping my eyes shut, so while kissing her I kept making eye contact with her friend. Smooth.

Back to the present day and this woman has a child. It’s not mine - I’m not that good at kissing, and I’ve known for some time that that isn’t how babies are made – regardless of how convincing Thomas Hayton was in primary school; an illustrated argument that to this day, annoyingly, still kind of makes sense. Anyway, she met a man and they fell in love. She had landed on her feet and in time they had a child together. Then her partner was arrested because it turned out he had been secretly meeting up with a minor. That poor woman has got some very awkward conversations with her child in the future. I wouldn’t have done that to her, I’d have treated her right. That kiss meant a lot to me. I wondered, when she caught sight of me, if she ever thinks about it. I wonder if her mate does.

6th April 2014

Today is Sunday, the day of rest. I spent my morning reading Catcher in the Rye by J. D. Salinger, a book that has sold over 65 million copies. I read that according to Salinger’s biographer, the author’s pick-up line was ‘I’m J.D. Salinger and I wrote Catcher in the Rye’. Initially I thought this sounded pretty cool but I went on to read that he had a thing for young women and dated girls as young as fourteen when he was in his thirties.

I’m not sure I have a type. In the afternoon, and with women on my mind, I watched a couple of Hitchcock films. I started with North by Northwest and then Dial M for Murder.

Annnnd now I have a type: Grace Kelly. That is the benchmark, ladies. What a woman. I know films romanticise and aren’t realistic, but in my head I can’t shift the idea that love in the ‘40s and ‘50s did seem of a better quality somehow. I want to meet a woman in the time when people wrote with pencils, when detectives wore bow ties and when paper-boys wore flat caps. A time when you met women in dance halls and men could take phone calls on a landline in a pub. A million years before fake tans, selfies and social networking ruined everything.

But what can you do?

I’m a big Alfred Hitchcock fan and I adore films in general. Do you remember Blockbuster? It was a chain of video rental stores, which I think originated in America. I worked for the company for around two years and it was during my time there that I discovered my love for films. I’m very passionate about film-making. I love action, thrillers, romance and comedy. I love big blockbusters, cult films, black and white, silent and foreign. I love bar fights and starry nights, monologues and underdogs. I love all of it.

Blockbuster paid me to sit all day and talk about films. It was the perfect job and had some great perks. I love films so intensely that I have to watch them on my own. People don’t know how to watch films any more. My generation can’t sit still for two hours straight. Most of them can’t go five minutes without checking their phones.

The Cockermouth branch of Blockbuster was located on the main street and although I loved the job dearly, the only day I truly remember of my time there was the 19th of November 2009. The day before, the town was warned of heavy rain, but rain is nothing new here, so I think a lot of us thought the same thing, which was ‘Yeah, yeah, whatever’. A day later and the town was under eight feet of water.

Blockbuster was destroyed.

The freak disaster, described by the local MP as a ‘once in a thousand years event’, made national news and the damage to the town was devastating. Thousands were evacuated. When I was little and I heard about floods, I thought things just got a bit wet. I assumed once it had stopped raining you just hung everything outside to dry and put the kettle on.

The flood of 2009 ruined lives. People lost their homes, their jobs and their businesses, gone forever in one night. With no more Blockbuster, I lost ten free rentals a week, so I know exactly what they went through.

Sadly, Blockbuster never reopened and, if I’m being honest, our branch was on its arse long before the river burst its banks. The small number of staff working there were relocated to a store in a neighbouring town, but it wasn’t the same. I was made to work and actually do things – I hated it. In the end, after a tennis match of rumours, we were made redundant.

***

At the time of the flood I was living with my mum just outside of Cockermouth. I now live with my dad in town. They have been separated since I was eighteen. I was almost an adult so