Between home and awake

So I was challenged to describe the state between being awake and asleep. The state where there are no words. Just movements and muses. Songs from the past, replayed from the mouths of faces in that day. In the womb of my own duck-feather-filled duvet. Where the country is as small as my breaths. It does not make much sense, this time of the night.

The bus rides by our window, but that does not interrupt the sense of falling and bouncing on pencils that scratch the ground as they move and flick forwards. Or picturing sneezes so powerful that they blow you backwards thirty yards until you're standing outside the hotel smiling at the staff who were waiting for you to check in.

It is a private time. Of no sense. But to share it with someone, is bliss.

That's all I've got to say about that. I'm off to bed. Night night.

I like to move it, move it. I like to move it, move it. I like to move it, move it. I like to... move it.

So, I said, "I'm not very proud of my blog at the moment. It's not been any good for months now."
My girlfriend, said "Oh, that's a shame. I'd never have anything to write about in a blog"
I said, "Neither do I, that doesn't stop me."
She said, "I'll give you some topics to write about. Errmmm...."
There was a five minute pause.
She said, "How about that state between being awake and asleep. And about things tied onto bits of string"

That's something you can all look forward to.

Let me put you in the picture, let me show you what I mean

It's been all mad on the Clapton front. Loads of gossip. Turns out a friend of mine, is actually a cunt. Which was a turn-up for the books. And new people have moved in to my gaff, who are not cunts. Anyway, this blog is neither the time nor the place to tell facts about myself. After all, I'm Steve Harmison. And Grievous Bodily Harmison lets his bowling do the talking.

I am blogging for two reasons.
Reason one
Brilliant. Like the chippy near college.

And secondly, I realised that I am bizarrely drawn to all the cards in my wallet, as if they are some kind of symbol of my identity. Not because they have my name on and act as a proof of my identity. But because they are mine. All mine. I have collected these, like Garbage Pail Kids, they represent things I have done and places I have been to. And a nectar card. They are:
Natwest Servicecard 100 - Maestro UK
HSBC Debit Card - Solo
Royal College of Nursing - Membership card
Intelligent Finance - Mastercard
Video Exchange - 66 Stamford Hill
Blockbuster Entertainment - 130 Kingsland High St
Royal College of Nursing - Library card
Nectar Card
Hackney Library card
Unison membership card
Liverpool FC fan card
Oyster Card
Kings College London/NUS card

Oh. I'm less proud of these now I typed them out. Once upon a time, I was proud of my cards. There were lots of old cards, NUS cards, library cards, novelty cards. Then I lost my wallet. So much for them being mine, all mine. Just goes to show that everything's transient.

Anyone else proud of the cards in their wallet? What cards have you got?