It was my Uncle Daz' birthday on Monday. Now at 71 years of age, he's one of the few people I know, actually the only one I really know, who can say that he's still not quite 18.
You see, he was born on the 29th of February, in the leap year of 1940. So his real birthday occurs only once every four years.
Now, I too was born in a leap year, although I best not reveal the year because unlike my uncle, I was not fortunate enough to be born on the 29th of February. And with each passing year, it's not just the age that shows but also the embarrasment that I'm no longer as young or as brave as I hoped I'd remain.