Knees up Mother Brown? Well, I would if I could...

This evening, I had a serious talk with my knees. As mechanical objects go, they have given seventy-one years of uncomplaining service, without a drop of oil or WD40 to keep them on the grind. But now, bless them, they are definitely crying out for assistance.
How do I know this? Well, apart from occasional buckling and crackling noises, I have noticed that everyone now walks faster than I do, even Tesco trolley-jockeys, who must rate among the slowest moving humans on earth, if you discount the people in the IR who pay out tax refunds.
The former Mrs Allsop, bless her, advised me "Whatever you do, avoid surgery." This from a Senior Nursing Sister! What does that say about current orthopaedic practice?!
Anyway, my beloveds, please don't panic. I have a theory that, just as "an apple a day keeps the doctor away", my daily intake of red wine is keeping the zing in my knees. At the rate I am putting it away, I don't think I will need to consider surgery much before 2020, by which time I and my knees both could well be beyond caring.