Source: shineonsyd“There were tales of Syd answering the door to reporters half-naked and screaming “Syd’s not home!” There were tabloid pap shots of an overweight man struggling home laden with groceries. A friend of mine, a Cambridge dweller, even claimed to have seen him rollerskating in the local park. So with just these randomly scattered jigsaw pieces to go by, it was hard to know what to expect.
Inside, Syd’s house was functional in the most basic of ways. He did all the painting and DIY himself but, despite being a keen painter, aesthetics plainly weren’t a major concern. The door handles were random pieces of square wood screwed directly into the frame. The upstairs bathroom door itself was made of plywood and fell a good few inches short of the door frame. You could only lock it from the outside.
Next to one of his beds (Syd alternated between the four bedrooms) a plank of plywood was hammered into a wall, so that he had something to rest his tea on. One stool had bits of wood glued to each of the three legs - Syd had wished his stool was higher and had approached the task in hand with a childlike naivety. As for the paintwork, that was an uneven splurge of garish colours that leapt from purple to pastel pink to orange in the space of a single room. Most surprising of all, perhaps, was when the band discovered an FHM calendar in his dustbin.
But strange as this all was, there was little magic. In fact, the myth that with genuine mental illness comes a slither of glamour was completely debunked. The house was, in fact, a little sad, the home of someone who struggled with the everyday tasks most of us take for granted. And yet, for those who know too well the perils of schizophrenia, the house was also comforting. Despite Syd’s rather makeshift surroundings, he was clearly a man determined to get along as best he could (He was apparently well aware of his DIY shortcomings, but enjoyed doing it all the same). He still painted, too. He still listened to music (almost exclusively jazz). He still lived.”
Tim Jonze, The Guardian (2006)
