One successful session on the operating table, one new heart valve and some bypass jiggery-pokery; Trickers is finally allowed home. Here's a shot of him and Milly celebrating his return to their hilltop eyrie with a glass of pink bubbly stuff. Only one glass, mind you. Trickers is now on strict rations of no more than a unit of booze a day. At least until he persuades the doctors (first) and Milly (a far more difficult second) that he's fit enough to indulge himself a little more.
By the time he was released from his gulag in the Bristol Royal Infirmary I understand he'd managed to drive most of the nursing staff to distraction (well done, sir!) and he's now performing a similar act at home, making sure that Milly is kept on her toes. He's not allowed to be left alone for at least a week (that should irritate the hell out of him) and is on orders to walk a few hundred yards daily, the distance increasing along with his fitness levels.
Millbrook can welcome back its adopted son for a visit very soon I hope. Cheers, Trickers, keep up the exercise.