New knees for old – mum takes it all in her stride for the dance

We have reached the stage of my mothers recovery that I like to refer to as 'mildly exasperating'.

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Only last week, a terribly nice surgeon replaced her knee. Arthritis was jamming the joint shut faster than a wildcat strike, and X-rays told the terrible tale of bone grinding grimly on bone.

She rarely complained, but walking had become incredibly painful.

Also, as my 86-year-old mamma bluntly informed the surgeon, she has plans for springtime Jet2 jaunts to Portugal. The knee was getting in the way. Out with it.

She wasn't bothered. She's not particularly nostalgic about her joints. I can't think of anyone who'd get weepy over a boney ball-and-socket, really. Not even Andy Murray.

He got part of his hip replaced. You didn't hear him moaning about how he and that hip won Wimbledon.