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.
My favourite subject was history. I loved learning about it because it represented the past and future. I don't think I was a very good student, unlike my sister. In fact, she was so bright she had to leave school and do her O-levels at college. Her peers felt threatened by her as she wasn't European and was head and shoulders above them.
I did history and politics for my bachelor's degree and then British Commonwealth history for my master's at university in London. Now I'm a business development manager in Hong Kong.
One day about five years ago I was listening to a radio report about abandoned children in Argentina in the 1970s who were being looked after by the government, charities or other agencies. They were given the basics but when it came to their most important day - their birthday - nobody noticed it.
This organisation would go into an orphanage and deliver a traditional Argentine birthday party to make these children feel special. It struck a chord with me and I resolved to do something similar for the first time in Hong Kong and our first party was in 2006.
We're slightly different in that we go to a number of social service agencies and nominate a centre, looking for suitable kids aged six to 12. That child then sends out birthday invites to anyone who they'd like at their party, although we try to keep it to about 30 to 35 in total. Our aim is to try to make as many people as happy as possible.
We sing Happy Birthday in English and Cantonese, and depending on the volunteers arranging it, there could be pass the parcel, Simon Says and musical chairs. There's also a birthday cake and the child makes a wish and blows the candles out.
We have about HK$700 to spend on food and we rely on kind souls for donations, not just of money but time. Every saving we make all helps towards funding more parties but we're also lucky that Coca-Cola is one of our sponsors. We also present the child with a gift and I hope it's a memory that stays with them for the rest of their lives.
