My 83-year-old mother finally had her cataract operation on Friday. She hadn’t lost her sense of humour despite enduring three cancellations which involved a lot of palaver each time: arranging to have my sister travel two hours to stay with her, juggling with her blood thinners and sitting in the waiting room for hours. Emergency eye operations take precedence (it’s only fair). ‘I’m all heart,’ she told the anaesthetist as he stuck the cardiac monitoring pads on her chest. He laughed kindly. Best to humour the nice old dear. ‘I’m like a cabbage,’ she added.