Insomnambulist

Sleep. The word conjures up images of being asleep. Yet sleep is one thing severely lacking nowadays. Insomnia is suffered by 1 in 4 people in the UK and is one of the leading concerns with visits to the GP. Yet what exactly is sleep? And why isn't anyone getting any?

Sleep is a natural response to neural stimuli. One has to will themselves to go to sleep to actually achieve sleep. It is through the act of lying down and closing one's eyes whilst relaxing that one achieves a sleep state which quickly goes...to the REM state. That stands for Rapid Eye Movement, REM. Nobody knows exactly why we need sleep but experiments have shown that without it things die in a matter of days. Sleep is more important than food in this regard, so it is curious that being gluttonous is acceptable in society yet being sleepy isn't. A way sleep scientists have learned more about sleep is by looking at animals that don't sleep. And that's where things really start to get wacky, as it turns out the only things that don't sleep are jellyfish. From the worms to the eagles, every other thing tends to sleep at some point or another. It is thought perhaps things with brains require sleep in order to give the brain a rest from it's conscious state, yet the brain waves are still active during sleep. Gamma, Theta and Beta wave patterns appear throughout the night, each of them giving more dreams of varying complexity. Dreams are caused by the Rapid Eye Movement (REM) of the sleeper beneath the eyelid, the patterns the dim light makes against the vein structure forces the sleeper to make sense of the abstract. Somewhere along the way this gets translated by the subconscious into a mental image. Scientists have experimented on people's eyes when they're asleep and discovered that if the eyeball is held in place the dream is just a still image. All night the sleeper will dream of one thing, say a vase of flowers, and like leaving a computer on without a screensaver the image is burned into the subconsciousness, in this instance everything in the waking state will somehow resemble a vase of flowers. People often need to sleep for several hours in order to feel totally energised. Bizarrely, tiredness causes errors in brain function more so than anything else.

So now we know what sleep is and why it's so important, it's curious why people struggle with getting to sleep. I went to visit a self diagnosed 'insomniac' in order to see what they were doing wrong. Abigail McGregor lives in Cheetham Hill in Manchester and works as a graphic designer. She's on a good income, lives a healthy lifestyle and says she is pretty much happy in her day to day life.
"It's the night time I don't like. I can't get to sleep for hours, I've tried going to bed early, going to bed late, nothing works." she says. I ask her further questions and find out she's tried every trick in the book.
"Have you tried all of the tricks at the same time?" I ask.
"I find one of the most relaxing ways is to drink a herbal tea and take the valerian route a few hours before bed, but I can't say I'm happy with the results." she says. I suggest that I spend the night in her flat, watching her sleep and then have a discussion in the morning. She agrees.

It is about 11:00 PM and Abigail turns off her television.
"About now I start to get ready for bed. Usually I go to my bedroom to check everythings in order." she says. I follow her down the corridor to her rest chamber. Though she's paying a five figure number for this exclusive apartment situated on the top floor of the state-of-the-art Green Quarter building, her bedroom is still quite small. She turns the light on and looks at the bed.
"Usually I get changed into my nightie and take out my contacts." she says, going over to a mirror.
"I'll step out of the room." I say, turning the light off as I go out. No wonder she can't get to sleep with all this electricity surging round. After roughly four and a half minutes she steps back out.
"Now what?"
"Well I go to the bathroom and y'know. Sort myself out."
"I'm sorry?"
"Have a wee, brush my teeth." she says. I nod and follow her to the bathroom. Although I don't watch her urinate I kneel by the closed door and listen intently, which is perceived as less transgressive in our society yet is, perceptually relative, the same. I open the door again and watch her brush her teeth.
"Hold on, hold on. Do it longer." I say after she gives up after half a minute. I keep encouraging her until we have reached the recommended time of two minutes.
"Oh, I forgot...I sometimes get a glass of water." she says. I roll my eyes and follow her back to the kitchen, where she takes a 475ml glass from the cupboard and fills it from the tap. I shake my head.
"You should only drink bottled water." I say. No wonder Abigail had problems sleeping, she was infusing her body with fluorides! Begrudgingly I follow her back to her room and watch pull the covers back and sit on her bed.
"Now what do you do?" I ask. She picks up her phone from the bedside table and waves it.
"Check my alarms on. Sometimes check twitter." she says. I restrain myself from pointing out the obvious. If you check twitter before bed you won't get to sleep because twitter is too exciting. I watch as she lies down, turns off her bedside lamp and begins to fall asleep.

"What are you doing?" I ask after a few minutes.
"Well, I can't get to sleep." she says.
"But what are you doing?"
"Lying down...I have my eyes shut."
"Try turning over." I suggest. She does so.
"The pillow is slightly cooler on this side."
"Is it agreeable?" I ask.
"It's alright." she says. I stand at the foot of her bed, examining posture and duvet thickness. Abigail has chosen a duvet with a tog rating of twelve, which seems reasonable to me. I estimate an increased temperature beneath the covers of roughly 10%, the standard difference required to keep the body warm over the course of the night. Yet before ten minutes have passed Abigail has already moved again, this time facing the opposite direction.
"Stop. Abigail. Abi, stop what you're doing." I say, sighing. She sits up. "You'll never get to sleep if you keep wriggling around like that." I say.
"But it's normal to move around in bed. I'm getting comfy."
"Is it normal? How do you know?"
"I've slept with people before." she says.
"Forget what you think you know. I've watched a lot of things go to sleep and none got their by moving their bodies except maybe fish and birds which only go to sleep with one brain hemisphere at a time. But mammals don't. Maybe giraffes sometimes. Pretend like I'm not here." I say.

The hours pass. By looking at her through an infrared camera I see she has finally got to sleep. I get down on all fours and begin to crawl up to her side of the bed, staring at her as she sleeps, memorizing every facial tick and change in breathing rhythm. Partway through the night she wakes up to go to the toilet and returns. I have now positioned myself at the bottom of the bed and watch her get in under the covers. I begin to crawl towards the pillow, using my phone as a torch.
"What are you doing?" she says.
"Gathering data. My phone is linked up to stream into The Cloud where it's compiled into a rich format .xlsb file." I say. She goes back to sleep and I work my way out of the bed and explore her flat, paying close attention to the contents of both the fridge and her bookshelf. I go back into her room and check through her phone, downloading some fun apps for her to try tomorrow. The sun begins to rise behind a ceiling of grey cloud, it is morning. Her alarm goes off and Abigail wakes, I go to the kitchen and pour us two glasses of orange juice.
"Sleep well?" I ask when she comes in.
"Yeah, not too bad actually all things considered. How about you?"
"I didn't sleep."
"Oh."
"Abigail, do you mind if I give you some feedback?"
"Sure." she says, drinking the juice.
"It's mostly good. You slept for exactly six hours and twenty three minutes, which isn't too bad. Could get a couple more in there, but not bad. I noticed you got back to sleep pretty quickly after visiting the bathroom, so, good job on that."
"Thank you." she says.
"Now for the bad news. Heh. You remember telling you about moving at the start of the night? Well...you moved again at about two in the morning. I was surprised to see you managed to do it in your sleep. If that was me, that would have woken me up, but somehow you managed. You also did it again about ten minutes before your alarm went off."
"Wow."
"I know. It's like you can't stop moving or something." I say, laughing mildly. "All joking aside, I think I found the reason for your insomnia and the cure is pretty simple."
"Really?" she says.
"I think tonight you should lie in the bath and cover yourself with sand. It might sound crazy, but trust me, I've seen these problems before and it works."
"So I should sleep in a bath full of sand?"
"Not full, that's too much. But enough so that it covers your body."
"Dry sand?"
"Dry to start off with, then you turn the hot water on."
"And this works?"
"It can take a few nights but about 75% of insomniacs benefit from this new form of sleeping." I say.
"Well...I'll give it a try. Thanks."
"Not a problem." I say. "Now if you don't mind me, I really could do with going to bed myself." We both laugh and I leave her apartment, pleased with my discoveries throughout the night.

So there you have it, a cure for insomnia. Comments or questions can go below or fire off an e-mail at http://www.hotmail.com/thepile@gmail.com and I'll get back to you ASAP. Also check out our youtube channel for the latest updates and our new segment 'Cooking With Daria'. Thanks for reading.

Home-made 3D Microscope

Here is a design for a three dimensional stereoscopic microscope I have just invented. Many people, including scientists, think that bacteria and such only exists in two dimensions when in fact there are at least three. By attaching a microscope at a ninety degree angle and having a cube slide rather than a flat one, viewers can see microscopic objects in three dimensions! Amateur scientists can now see the smiling faces of tape worm as they move in the x, y, z directions we are all accustomed to. To not have a 3D microscope is similar to trying to study sea creatures by looking at them from above. This breakthrough will increase scientific output by a factor of four.

The Ministry Of Beige

Recently I attended the Leeds University degree show, the culmination of three years of study from art students from around the globe that had gathered in one building, as it makes it easier to teach. I usually made a point of visiting the various degree shows up and down the country in order to spot the next hot talent I can ear-mark for future reference, able to say in future conversations that I saw their early work and perhaps make a snide comment about it. As I walked those sanctimonious galleries that smelled slightly of emulsion and cheap wine, I examined that year's students suggestions as to what the best piece of work they had ever made was to be. There were abstract paintings, stuffed animals, a couple of rocks, photographs of topless women, bits of string, some sort of rusted bicycle, coloured tape, triangles and a few videos of students staring at the camera whilst things happened to them. Work like this happened up and down the country, though one of the slight differences was that every single piece here had a little red sticker on it, marking it as sold. I grabbed a student by the arm and demanded to know what was going on.
"Someone bought everything. I made a hundred quid on my crypto-vintage screen prints based on the works of Miguel de Cervantes recontextualised as a parody of social media." they uttered. I pushed them to one side as I made my way to the refreshments table, thinking that something was amiss. It was rare for anybody to sell work at these things, let alone for every single student to make a sale. I needed to track down this art enthusiast, although first I needed to make sure I capitalised on the refreshments.

Several refreshments later I was none the wiser. In fact I hadn't moved from the table. But as is the case at these events, sooner or later everyone needs a drink. I noticed him by the stream of whispers he left in his wake. Dressed in a sharp suit and pointy shoes, the figure of Miles Burgeaumont blends in like a black moth against the night sky. Though there is something different about him compared to a moth. He has genuine joy in his eyes. I go forward to apprehend him, to ask him if he is the enthusiast that has bought all the work, though I am intercepted by a proud parent who asks the questions for me.
"You bought my daughter's work!" cried the father.
"Indeed I did! I was surprised at the...suggestions it made. I needed to have it." said Mr. Burgeaumont.
"I'm glad. The thing is, it wasn't for sale. You see, she used several pieces of my late mother's jewellery in her collage and I'd like them back."
"But I paid a fair price. Don't worry, they will be looked after, even displayed in a gallery. In London."
"Oh London! You should have said!" squawked the father. They made idle chit-chat whilst I began to make some notes and did a few drawings. London. The land of the blind. And the one eyed man could be king. But why? Surely the one eyed man would never be able to prove that he could see. I then noticed that the work was being taken off the walls and taken outside.

Everyone was at the front of the university, looking at Mr. Burgeaumont standing by the pile of artwork. He began to speak.
"Ladies and Gentlemen. Thank you for attending the Leeds Art School Degree Show. As you may or may not know, my name is Miles Burgeaumont. I am an art collector and have bought every single piece of work at this event. You may wonder why I have bought all of this work, and I am telling you now that I wish to display it in London at my very own gallery." said Mr. Burgeaumont. Some people began to cheer.
"Before doing so it needs a slight modification. You see, I represent the Ministry of Beige. The ministry represents everything mediocre, bland, sexless, boring. We have identified that certain works of art do not meet a standard of quality that will in anyway increase the culture of society. They are required to be unmade. To be beigeified." said Burgeaumont. Men emerge from the back of a van and begin to pour gallons of beige paint over the work. The thick gloss falls thickly across paintings and sculptures, erasing all detail. Some students laugh, some are shocked, some rush forward to try and rescue their work, though members from the ministry block any attempts to save the work from being covered in litre upon litre of beige.
"I have bought the work. It is mine to do with as I please." said Burgeaumont.
"But your idea itself is bland and boring. Anti-art is nothing new and has been done better a hundred of times before! Some of the work you're destroying is itself anti-art!" shouted a tutor, making their way forward. A bucket of beige paint is thrown over them.
"This isn't an artistic statement. I am just pouring beige paint over your work." said Burgeaumont. He continued to answer questions and protests as more and more beige paint was poured, it began to ooze out onto the street, onto the pavement, it was splashed up the trees and smeared along the walls. I am unsure as to what happened next as I went inside to make use of the refreshment table, but by the time I left the university there wasn't anybody around, though beige paint covered every surface like a wet snow. I walked over to the pile of art work that was the nucleus for this rearrangement in colour and knelt down, picking out a painting at random and wiping away some of the beige with my sleeve. It was a portrait of David Cameron with a Hitler moustache. I dropped it back into the pile with disgust and began to walk along the empty roads of Leeds, everything was beige. Everything.