It means that:

- you will no longer have to endure my habit of dropping the fact that I was put up a year into the conversation at every possible opportunity. Previously I delighted in finding sneaky ways to bring up the topic of how I was actually only so-and-such an age, and would then wait patiently for someone else to ask if that made me a child genius, to which I would respond with a coy grin but no confirmation or denial. I will not enjoy saying "I'm only 20" anything like as much as I enjoyed saying "I'm only 17", "I'm only 18" and "I'm only 19". However, be warned that I am likely to replace this with a new "I'll have a degree at the age of 20" theme, which is far more acceptable in my view.

- this is your last chance for a decade to buy me a themed age-related card in somewhere like Clintons, unless they do very tacky "21 today" ones. Don't get me one of those. I'm likely to cry once I get to 21.

- nothing whatsoever becomes legal that wasn't before (at least not in this country). This is a major let-down. I almost feel like supporting the raising of the age of consent to 20 just to make it worthwhile. It's a similar emotion to the one I felt when I was 18: previously I'd been able to get into clubs using my university card at the age of 17, because everyone assumed I was 18 (notice how easily I work this whole year-ahead-of-myself thing into everything I do). Once I actually was 18, I never went clubbing because there seemed no point now that I was allowed.

In all honesty, it's relatively easy to establish that my birthday doesn't really mean all that much. In fact, it's depressing that I'm now more than a quarter of the way through my life (if I'm lucky), and about a third of the way through it if I'm marginally less lucky. It makes Aaron's theories of reincarnation - he's convinced he was once a Red Indian shaman - seem very tempting indeed. Of course, I'd have to go one better and be a shaman who was put up a year, thereby skipping Young Shaman Workbooks six through nine.