so grey and wet, dimly lit misery

sleeping on a mattress on the floor of the sitting room, a room that belongs to friends in Clonmel.

Dark, a smell of coal smoke.

And then the alarm set by the son starts to sound, a nasty loud sound, a sound that is impossible to sleep to.

He sleeps on regardless.

Lean over and turn the machine off.

The silence is back, the coal smoke scented sitting room, and it is dark still.

It is seven in the morning.

Later, hear the son get up and get his day clothes on.

Go back to sleep for a little more time, time in warmth, time to get rid of the bleary sore throat.

Then 

Get up and put on the day clothes, no washing, no showering now.

Put the suitcase together, close the suitcase, the zippers zip.

Pick up the beds, the duvets, the covers, tidy it all up.

Open the window, let in air from the miserable day outside, a day so grey and wet, dimly lit misery.

All being done, go to the kitchen, there is the son talking to the young child, the lady of the house working at the sink, talk, cheerful, and then there is a cup of Bodum coffee, just stirred and pressed.

And everyone agrees that the weather outside is just awful