Christian Yorke

Today was remarkable because I was more tired than at any point in the past twelve months, during which phase I have been barely awake, even in my brightest moments.

On the journey to work I felt as though a large hand was squeezing my brain, shutting me down. The warm bed and hot shower were still in my mind despite the cold, grey drizzle ruining my clothes and skin on the walk to the station. On arrival (after a long wait due to rain and the cold) I had to clamber over a suitcase, and then over its owner, to get a seat where I remained squashed and sodden en route to London town.

I remember fishing Crime and Punishment from my rucksack; I even opened it, but reading was impossible as I passed out intermittently. I ended up clutching it like a bible across my chest as The Prodigy blasted out of my neighbour’s ears. I didn’t complain because I could not keep my eyes open. I zoned out for unknown periods, pushed over the edge by the rickety-rackety tracks, the clickety-clack of laptops and the rustle of free papers that seem to be everywhere these days.

The struggle to keep my eyes open left my vision blurred and although I caught what could only have been my reflection in the black window I hardly recognised the damaged features. At times I was uncertain about what was real and what was my nightmare (that I can’t bring myself to share with you just yet).

Oh yes, and to top it all off I felt nauseous and dizzy, as though I had been woken from deep but restless sleep. And the worst part, the biggest joke, was how my lack of worthwhile sleep left me so edgy. This harsh conflict distracted me until the wheels screamed, louder even than my neighbour’s shrieking ears, and I realised that no amount of sleep, no lie-ins, early nights or afternoon naps were going to remedy this deep exhaustion. As I now reflect on the day I have to accept that, for me, sleep just punctuates the days; helps to stop my life being an endless weekday with no end and a forgotten beginning.

Nevertheless, once my train arrived I battled through the zig-zag swarms in the leaking station, pushing through the turnstiles like a zombie because there were still twelve hours of work to tackle befroe I could repeat the process and struggle home.

Think I’ll book a holiday tomorrow. If I remember.

I know exactly how that bird feels as I try create a coherent web site. It’s like being covered in a thousand insatiable leaches. What I have is a building site or car wreck or dog of a site that refuses to do what it should. I’ve already used up four laptops because in moments of maximum anguish they seem to catch my elbow and fly off the table into the wall.

I’ve been on a twisted journey my whole life and it’s time to share the load. If you can overcome the links that go nowhere, or take you in circles and the “buttons” that do nothing and the irregular fonts you will find stories, reports, blogs and even extracts from a novel called Modern Trials. Much of the site is fiction, but where the content is based on real events I have tried (not always succesfully) to change the names of those involved to protect their shady reputations from further damage.

I will master this dark web speak and turn this site into a magnificent creation but for now I warn you-a hard hat is strongly advised.