WITH only 365 days to choose from (366 if you wish to be pedantic) one shouldn’t be surprised to meet a two people with the same birthday. Yet surely the odds are lengthened when, within half an hour, you meet two men each called David, both born on December 6 and in the same year – 1950.

But it happened on Monday. I met the first David in the queue of a Cornmarket Street bank. We exchanged names and the usual pleasantries and revealed a common dislike for those machines that silently take and dispense money, preferring the human touch from the usually cheerful tellers.

I noticed he was wearing a plastic badge that read ‘I’m 60 Today’.

“Happy birthday!” I said. “Any plans to celebrate?”

“None – if I can help it,” he replied testily. “I’m only wearing this damned badge to shut up my granddaughter.”

With that he removed it, stuffed it in his pocket and without any prompting went on to curse his fate. His life was more than half over; he had never achieved what he might have done – unlike his elder brother who had made stacks of money and now lived on the Isle of Man.

His opportunity to travel had been restricted because what he earned had been needed to keep a roof above the heads of himself, his wife and two children who had treated him like the cash dispenser he loathed.

“Who’d be 60?” he moaned.

There followed more grumbles. I resisted the temptation to repeat my birthday greetings or to suggest that with a family and a home, he was far more fortunate than he realised. The parable of the sower and its references to stony ground came to mind.

THE encounter cast an even colder chill on the day. After discussing the fluctuating state of the Stock Exchange with a Big Issue salesman, I wandered in the direction of Bonn Square and New Road Baptist Church where for three hours each week day hot drinks and biscuits are dispensed to all who would have them. It’s a real melting pot of the city’s haves and have-nots.

However, there was something different that morning. Colourful birthday banners were everywhere; cards and a few gifts lay haphazardly on a table, while one wall bore A4 sheets of paper, each bearing a letter of the alphabet announcing it was David’s birthday.

This David was the church’s warden, David Stevens. As usual he was welcoming regulars and newcomers alike with a broad smile.

Even two uniformed civil enforcement officers had dropped in. Apart from a cousin, there were no blood relatives of this only child bachelor, but friends from the church and the city at large – his family. In his words he was having a great time.

Was being 60 something to regret? Not a bit of it. This was the start of another decade to enjoy.