It is a select club and counts US rocker Lenny Kravitz, actress Helena Bonham-Carter and one-time British Olympic hopeful Zola Budd among its esteemed members.
Other luminaries include Peter Cushing, Sir Matt Busby, John Wayne and Alexander Puskin.
Although they are no longer with us, this quartet are still counted as members for this is the kind of club you never leave.
All of these people were born on May 26, the best day ever to have a birthday. It just happens to be the date of my birth as well. So as I scurry to open my cards and presents on Saturday I do so knowing Lenny, Helena and Zola are with me all the way.
I will, however, have a particular reasons to celebrate this year: I will be 40. I'd like to say that somebody more famous than me will hit the 40 mark on the same day but the best Google could come up with was Jean Bartholomew.
Jean Bartholomew? Not the Jean Bartholomew? The US lady golfer? One and the same.
Jean's record in 2007 for "Top 10 tournament finishes" has room for improvement (it's zero) and her 2007 earnings of $3,106, for finishing 62nd in the Corona Morelia Championship, could do with a boost. Reassuringly for me, but disappointingly for her, the New York-based golfer has earned less than I have so far this year. And my swing is awful.
Still, Jean and I will share a spiritual journey when Saturday comes. We will, as my daughters insist on reminding me, be officially middle aged. The notion of 30-something will be no more. In the words of Pink Floyd, I will be "shorter of breath, one day closer to death." Jean and I are hurtling towards the dark side of the moon.
People say it is all too easy to be downcast about turning 40. But to those who say "Pull yourself together" I respond thus: my entire span of being aged in my 30s, the decade when you are supposed to push on, make big bucks, and secure your future, has been defined, politically, by Tony Blair. Blair moved into 10 Downing Street just days before my 30th birthday and he will be moving out just after my 40th. A lesser man might get paranoid.
So how does standing on the verge of being 40 compare with standing on the brink of being 30? Financially, I am worse off. I had a pension then, I don't know, and see no possibility of being able to afford one. Tax is up, National Insurance is up, the cost of living is up, utility bills are up, I have to pay privately for dental work because there aren't any NHS dentists left, my children can't play an instrument at a state school unless I fork out a fortune. I could go on.
The only "pay back" from the Government has been in the form of child tax credits, which fluctuate wildly because of my self-employed status and make financial planning as exact a science as popping seaweed to forecast the weather.
What's more, all the things I said I'd achieve before 40 have turned to nothing. No classic BMW, Aga or greyhound. I can't even moonwalk.
And yet, knowing what I know now, would I swap positions with the chap who was staring down the barrel of a gun, figuratively, as he prepared to turn 30? Not on your nelly.
My 30s brought no rich rewards and delivered what I consider to be a fair share of personal trauma. But I now know what is important in my life. Some people don't get there until they are 50, so I consider myself ahead of the game.
And when I raise a glass on my 40th, I will do so hoping Jean Bartholomew, wherever she might be swinging her clubs, has reached the same realisation.