Poor youngsters get birthday cheer from their uncle Edward

One of the things that remains etched in my mind about my childhood is that we never had any money for birthday parties. That meant I couldn't invite friends around to celebrate and as a result they didn't invite me to theirs. It's always stayed with me and it's why now I arrange parties for less fortunate kids in Hong Kong.

I was born in Kenya in the 1950s and grew up in civil service quarters in Nyeri, which is overlooked by Mount Kenya. Dad and mum were Portuguese Goan, but both held British passports.

In those early days, I was looked after by locals who spoke Swahili but sent to a school where we were taught in English. I regret now I wasn't allowed to develop my interest in Swahili because I think it would've given me an interest in different languages.

After Kenya gained independence from the British, we left a country with a wonderful climate for dank London. My sister and I were the only Catholics in our Protestant school and of course we didn't tell a soul. We found it very rough. Our introduction to British culture was a huge girl in the playground attacking a boy then prising open his eyes and forcing him to look at the sun.

Mum and dad hadn't been getting on and he left, resulting in her taking to her bed. So I'd look after my sister, taking her to school and then bringing her home again.

We'd go to the public baths once a week to wash and actually it was quite enjoyable. You'd get to lather up and have a nice soak for half an hour. There was also a sociability attached to it. I'd cook dinner and usually it'd involve something with eggs and tinned food, which were cheap. It was very rare to have fruit.

By this time we'd moved to a place above a shop and I'd go to the house of a friend called Bernard Willis. Even now I can remember the smell of baking there - of bread and cakes - and that meant you could tell his mother was home. When you went to our house it was cold and there'd be no such aroma.