Slugs and snails bring thrushes

... which is why we don't kill them. This was the hint that they're finding food in our garden, and then the bird itself. It's been cold and wet all day. This is put together from photos taken a couple of days ago - a bit of a cheat, I know. But the broken shells happily keep appearing. Now looking forward to hearing thrush song. I suspect that is territorial so perhaps it's nesting elsewhere.

After yesterday, when I didn't get home till after eight, I'm afraid I gave in to my eyes closing after tea in bed this morning, and succumbed to more sleep. This afternoon I spent on crochet and watching a black-and-white 1948 film, based on a Graham Green novel, called The Fallen Idol, starring a young Ralph Richardson. Just the right pace for my elderly brain to count stitches at the same time as watching.