The blanket and the mattress are soaking. The stench of vomit, alcohol and urine makes one want to retch.
But, yesterday, Mr Philip Joyce (38) seemed quite proud of the new mattress he and his sister-in-law, Ms Winifred Joyce (45) were sitting on, near Baggot Street Bridge, in Dublin.
"I pulled it out of a skip down near Holles Street," he smiled. "Just got it yesterday."
They explain that up until three years ago they, along with Philip's late wife and two children, were living in a caravan in Ringsend.
"We were living there for 15 years," Philip said, "and the corporation came and put it [the caravan] out of sight. They put it in a pound and said we'd have to pay £50 for each day they had it to get it back. They wanted £500 for 10 days and we didn't have it. So we just went to live here."
A biting wind followed yesterday morning's rain and by the early afternoon the two Travellers were shivering, sitting tensely with their hands clasped firmly between their knees. Their three or four layers of clothing were damp.
Philip said that his wife - "she was only 32" - died of the cold about two years ago, in a doorway in Tara Street.
"I found her stiff dead beside me in the middle of the night," he said. His voice faltering, he looks away. He can't talk about it.
"My heart," he said. "Broken. The Government treat us wrong. They treat us very bad. Treat us like we don't exist."
From Finglas in Dublin, he said he used to work as a decorator. His "babies", aged five and seven, have been taken into care.
Winifred is from Co Mayo. She said they have been to the corporation asking about getting a flat.
"We were there six months ago but they said it was no use. See, we don't want to be separated. We want to stay together. And we don't want to go to a hostel neither, because it's all junkies. So we sleep out here."
"The worst thing is the cold," said Philip. "The cold in your legs. Once the legs get cold they freeze up very bad."
At this point we are joined by Mr Michael Maughan (58), also from Dublin. Producing a bottle of vodka from under his overcoat he crouches down beside Philip on the mattress while Winifred pours a little of the spirit into a plastic cup, topping up the level in the bottle with Coca-Cola.
"We drink to keep warm," said Philip. "We have to. Probably drink about four bottles a day between us. Sometimes more. Yes, you do feel a bit sick in the morning. But you just get sick and let it pass."
As for meals, they say passers-by buy them sandwiches.
"Dublin people are very, very generous," said Philip. "Make sure you write that."
He said they won't be going anywhere, any soup-kitchen or hostel, for Christmas.
"We'll be here. Maybe you could bring down an old dry blanket. If you're passing, bring us some turkey."
"And some potatoes," laughed Winifred. "I'd love some hot potatoes."
Philip said he'd love a new caravan. "If I could get a bit of a job and a roof and give up the drink. Then I'd be happy."
