‘You remember Wendy – she slept with your father’: what I learned writing Mum’s Christmas cards

There comes a time when your eyes are too far gone to write your own messages. Photograph: Posed by models. FG Trade/Getty Images

Unless you die before it happens, there comes a point in every person’s life where your eyes are too far gone to write your own Christmas cards, and someone else has to do it for you. My aunt did it for my uncle, then my mum did it for my aunt, and now I’m doing it for my mum.

We’re off to a strong start – I’ve got as far as “Dear John”, when she says: “No, John died! He died 18 months ago,” then, beadily, “what have you written?”, as if I’ve done something outlandishly yet characteristically stupid.