I remember a friend's family had a dishwasher and he and his sisters would fight, all the time, about whose turn it was to empty it, or load it.

I came away thinking  that it was all too much trouble.

Yelling, and more yelling, and then the parents get involved and there's more yelling, and having a roster seemed to count for nothing as "days" would be traded back and forth and then minds would be changed and there'd be more yelling...

It seemed like a Bring instant unhappiness into your family life machine.

I know people who think the absolute world of dishwashers, they praise them to the heavens and back and I'm glad they're happy with them.

But I don't think I could be.

Anyway, there's nothing wrong with manually washing dishes. It's nice to do something with my hands that doesn't involve them getting dirty, or me needing to urgently grab the first aid kit, ha ha.

Would you like this food that I have in the palm of my hand, baby cockatoo?

No. I would like to bite each of your fingers, individually, and then your thumb, because I'm thorough.

He's like that. He gently but firmly squeezed each of my fingers, in turn, and then my thumb, for good measure.

I don't know if he was seeing how far he could get before I told him off, or whether he was genuinely curious, but he enjoyed it.

No need to find the savlon and band aids, this time. This time, mwah ha ha ha ha.

He's a cheeky little man, and not above taking liberties if he thinks that he can get away with it.

This is the bird that jumped a couple of feet from a perch, into the seed box, as I was stepping out the door, then sat there with a look of "I'm sitting in the box, it's mine, now".

Cheeky, cheeky little man, ha ha.