I DO rescue Geoffrey from The Old Asylum

Well, Geoffrey's home. But he's in a terrible state - and so am I! the trauma! I've had to step up my intake of sal volatile and madeira, and supplies are running low...but more of that later. I suppose readers will be eager to know how we rescued Geoffrey from the insane asylum. What happened is this.
After filling his pipe with a potent mixture of Old Fogey and gripping it between his teeth, the Tupfinder strapped on a brace of pistols and said, "Rightoh! off we jolly well pop!"
"Er...are you quite sure that you don't want to change into something more...suitable?" I postulated, concerned that the T-G was stiil wearing his dressing gown and slippers.
"I could say the same about YOU, Tuppy! but of course you're quite right."
I blushed, and looked at my reflection in the silver tea pot. Not an attractive sight. While the T-G stepped into his dressing room to change into his tweeds, I decided to rid myself of the satin loons once and for all. I seized the butter knife, jabbed it into a side seam and ripped the stitching down the left leg - one down, one to go...
"Come on Tuppy! no time to waste!" The Tupfinder appeared, dressed head to toe in tweed and carrying a sword stick and a bag of tools. I could see the pistols bulging under his jacket.
"But I..."
"Come ON!"
So off we set, me now wearing half the pair of tight satin loons and barely able to walk due to a terrible attack of pins and needles as the returning blood surged into my appendage.
We rattled along in the Tupfinder's hansom cab and before long we found ourselves at the ivy-covered gates of The Old Asylum. There was an awful creaking sound as the gates swung open and a raven croaked alarmingly from the depths of an old oak as we cantered up the neglected driveway.
As we drew up, a forlorn face peered wanly from an upper window - it was Geoffrey!
The Tupfinder shinned up the ivy in a trice and jemmied the window open.
"Out you pop old son. Can you fly?"
"N-no." Of course he couldn't...poor Geoffrey had had all his feathers shorn off by the asylum attendants...for his own good, they said.
So the T-G carried him back down to the carriage on his shoulder, and we had an emotional reunion.
"Oh Geoffrey, Geoffrey!" I sobbed, "Whatever have they done to you?"
Now we're safely back at the Outcrop, and Geoffrey is in his usual place toasting his toes by the fire enjoying a plateful of "tangy Cheese" Doritos and a hot mug of madeira. I'm sure he'll be back to his usual self in no time.
We're going to have to find some way of making his feathers grow back quick-style, though. It's getting a bit parky of an evening.
Perhaps we might have to consult...Granny Sooker (gulp)....