Most of the time I wander around blissfully unaware of my age, but at this time of year, I tend to get reminded of it. I’m occasionally frustrated when I realise how old I seem to have got without writing a great epic, curing any disease, routing a dragon, rescuing a damsel, or visiting the moon (let alone punching a shark).
One friend was recently reminding me of matters chronological when, to deflect the weight of implied responsibility to do great things, I decided to point out how much older than me she was. Typically she had a response: since women live longer, in male years (like dog years?) she is younger than me.
Obviously at this point, calculations had to be done to determine if she was right. The fruits of my labour are below. Again, typically, she was right.
The life expectancy values are from 2002 for the UK.