My hero is Captain Morgan, never a pirate but an excellent buccaneer who rose to become the Admiral of the Brethren of the Coast, the first ever international criminal organisation. When I was researching my ancestry I thought we were related, but I couldn’t establish it satisfactorily.
I’m an accomplished liar, but a man of his word. At a young age I was bullied, so to dispel the belief I was a goody-goody swot I became mischievous. To dispel the belief I was timid, I cultivated friendships with tough guys out of school. My capacity to state untruths improved – I’ll lie about anything. But I will not testify against anyone, commit violence against a person or rip anyone off. I’ll never break a promise.
My father hit me once. As a Merchant Navy fleet commodore he was allowed to take my mother and me on voyages. On one of them I threw the ship’s cat overboard. My motivations weren’t the least bit sinister – I expected it to return with some fish (which it spent most of its time eating).
I have thrived on fame. It has been useful over the past 20 years writing and performing shows. In prison it helped me to earn the respect of fellow inmates. As a drug smuggler, it was probably my undoing.
Smuggling, for me, is an adrenaline rush triggered by fear. It’s similar, I suspect, to that experienced by many sportsmen or gamblers. In my busiest days I risked life imprisonment and death.
The fact that I have spent so many years away from my children automatically makes me a bad parent. The worst thing I’ve ever had to go through was a phone call informing me that my four-year-old son Patrick had jumped off a roof and broken both his legs. The one person I identify with most on this planet is Patrick.
My cancer is terminal but treatment has given me a 50% chance of living another year. I draw strength from the view that cancer is another way of living rather than dying, and from humour – a friend employed a clown to visit him every day and his cancer went into remission. That’s a “medical miracle”.
People who don’t know me are always surprised to learn I’m skint. Money engenders irritating requests for loans and investments, so I ensure I spend it. The only property I own is a garden shed.
My opinion of Jeremy Corbyn is “so far, so good”. But I don’t know his position as regards cannabis legalisation.
I feel blessed to be Welsh. My fortunes and misfortunes always seemed to coincide with those of the Welsh rugby team. Wales never won the Five or Six Nations or the Triple Crown during the nine years I was incarcerated, and have never received the shameful Wooden Spoon when I’ve been free. Wales’s recent defeat of England has increased my optimism about everything.
Mr Smiley: My Last Pill and Testament by Howard Marks is out now (£18.99, Pan Macmillan). To order a copy for £13.29, go to bookshop.theguardian.com
