My chum Alan’s fiancé Jules (er… so ‘my chum Jules’, then) had eight hours of brain surgery the other day. As you, by and large, don’t. She no longer has a tumour filling a quarter of her head and by all accounts is doing marvellously. And that does seem to be ‘doing marvellously,’ rather than ‘doing marvellously, considering.’
Before she went in for the op, Alan asked her what she wanted to do when she gets home again. Nothing much forthcoming at the time, but ten minutes after she came round, she said ‘Big plate of chips, mayonnaise, cup of tea, Fawlty Towers. That’s what I want to do.’
Which, I tend to think, is a rather good sign.