Feed me . . .

And through the grubby front window (compliments of Biskit) we have seven of our regular spadgers complaining that the feeder is empty.
 
I managed to crop the interesting bit out from patio door reflections and Biskit nose marks – I really must clean them off (again).
 
Not a lot happening other than touching up some paintwork and getting dinner on.  One more clock to advance.  Actually there are only two, the cooker and a present from my Auntie some thirty or so years ago – maybe longer.
 
Chicken for dinner.