grey day sends it's light

first, up at five, that is the habit from the working week.
The bathroom, the moving carefully so as not to waken the wife and the son.
At least, not to disturb them too much.

And then - look up the computer. News. All is the same, no madness from the States, none from Russia, no mad pokering at each other in the middle east, nor the far east.
A quiet night.
And now it is a year later.
And there is no need to be up so early on New Years Day.

So go back to bed, back to sleep, wait until the grey day sends it's light in through the window.
And sleep on- until ten.

And then, get up and make coffee. The cat clamours, it want's to be fed.

Coffee, write notes.
There is, as always, not much to say.