My oddest Christmas Present

For the rest of the week, i On Global Trends will be a free-form Christmas Edition.

I can remember it as if it were yesterday - it was Christmas 1972 and I was aged 16.

Mum, dad and myself went to visit my grandparents, (father's side) who lived in a street of terraced houses in Cardiff, Wales. I was never too excited about visiting them - especially if it was a Saturday afternoon.

My grandfather would sit in the same chair, wearing the same white shirt with the collar removed, sleeves rolled up and trousers held up by braces, glued to the horse racing on ITV. After that had finished, it was the football results. Everyone had to be silent as he checked his Littlewood's football pools coupon.

I have been trying to think of an artistic, poetic way to describe my grandfather and the best I could come up with is - as common as muck. He was the sort off man who made Albert Steptoe seem upmarket and a member of the intelligentsia. For Americans - think Archie Bunker.

We were there to exchange Christmas presents and he accepted mine without even looking at it, tossing it on a small table next to his Woodbine cigarettes. He pointed to another table and said, "yours is over there". I noticed straight away that there was something different about it. For one thing, it was wrapped in newspaper. Pink newspaper to be precise, an old copy of what was known as, "The pin 'un" or "Football Echo".

It was small and cylindrical and I had no idea what it could be. Any guesses?

It was a small can of beer. Watney's Light Ale, if you want the technical details. I was overwhelmed that he found it in his heart to give me one of his spares as a Christmas present.

That was the last he saw of me. The next time I had any news of him was in 1981. My parents were already in Australia, and I received a phone call from some aunt that I hadn't heard from since I was a nipper, telling me that he head died. Apparently he came out of the betting shop, had a heart attack and dropped dead. Must have had a winner!

Last year I did a bit of research about their old house and couldn't help basking in the exquisite irony the research revealed. You see both of my grandparents were unashamed racists. My mother discovered that, (she is Austrian and married my father when she was 16, and went to Cardiff to live with his parents - just after the war). Anyone foreign was fair game - especially if they were black.

I discovered that my grandparents house was no longer a family residence - it's now an Indian restaurant.

You beauty!