There is something rather Famous Five-ish about the 29^th of February.

It is an extra day and, as such, it feels as though it should be reserved for extraordinary things, outside of the usual run-of-the-mill.  Surely no one should have to work on 29 February?  Otherwise, aren’t your employers getting a free day’s labour for nothing?  Some people take off their birthdays as a holiday from work, but surely 29 February is a more unusual occurrence; more worthy of celebration––if only by merit of scarcity––than the prosaically frequent 1^st of January?

29 February makes me want to do something different.  Rather than catch my regular commuter train to work in London, instead, catch that fast express, which is leaving from the opposite platform, departing for Edinburgh.

I think of 29 February in a positive way.  An additional day that has been slightly inexplicably granted to me in this long adventure of Life; a sort of bonus for longevity; an astronomical ‘well done’.

On the other hand, if I wanted to be pessimistic, I could just think of it as the day, which brings forward by one day the date of my death.

© Simon Turner-Tree

Simon Turner-Tree ponders how to spend 29 February.