Byline: GRAHAM BRIDGSTOCK
AT 18 MONTHS, Wilbur Smith was struck down with cerebral malaria and doctors warned he could be brain-damaged. Yet now, at 66, he is the world's leading adventure writer and has just completed his 27th novel, Monsoon. The father of three children from his first marriage, he and third wife Dee Dee, 60, divide their time between homes in South Africa, the Seychelles, and London's Knightsbridge. Here he talks to GRAHAM BRIDGSTOCK.
WHEN all my friends began falling off the perch, I decided to go to one of the top cardiac specialists in Cape Town for a complete check-up.
After examining me, he said: 'Has anyone ever mentioned you have a murmur?' Puzzled, I replied: 'People have told me I talk too much, but they've never accused me of murmuring.
' Yet it transpires I have a congenital condition. When my heart pumps out into the aorta, one valve doesn't shut properly and I get a bit of a leak there, a sort of turbulence.
My father had a fatal heart attack when he was nearly 80, so I was naturally eager to know what the prognosis was in my case. 'Well,' said the doctor, 'you're unlikely to make it to 100.' Apart from that, there is no cause for alarm. On the contrary, all I have to do is take half an aspirin every morning to thin the blood and prevent clotting, otherwise I am disgustingly healthy.
Callouses can be a problem because I wrote my first 25 books in longhand, with a ballpoint. But, at 66, there is still no sign of the arthritis that a witch doctor at the Victoria Falls glimpsed on the horizon a few years ago.
Although I have worn glasses since I was a boy, my close sight is fantastic. When my wife wants to thread a needle, I do it for her.
She has worked wonders for me healthwise. Before we met, I was on 60 cigarettes a day and a carnivore. A vegetarian, she taught me to enjoy fruit and vegetables as well.
MY ONLY real injury was when I broke the big toe on my right foot three or four years ago; I kicked a table on the way to the loo at midnight.
Walking has never been easy - polio at 16 has left me with a slightly withered right leg which I tend to drag when I am tired.
But over the years I've found three things are crucial: eating well, worrying as little as possible and getting lots of sleep.
Having said that, because of the rising crime in South Africa, an armed security man patrols my grounds at night with a German shepherd and I keep a loaded 357 Magnum Smith and Wesson on my bedside table but I still average eight hours.
At birth - on January 9, 1933, at Broken Hill in what is now Zambia - I was a hefty 9lb.
These days, my appetite is probably too good. But at nearly 13 stone and 6ft, I think I have it under control. As a rule, I start the day with cereal, fruit and English breakfast tea, no sugar. And in the evening, after a whisky sundowner, I have two glasses of Chardonnay with a light supper and turn in at 9pm.
Alas, mosquitoes have an enduring liking for me. My last bout of malaria was five or six years ago. But my first, when I was 18 months, was the worst.
That was cerebral malaria, which can be lethal when the infection gets into the brain's cortex. I was delirious for ten days. Hence the doctor's grim warning: 'If he survives, he could be brain-damaged.' In the event, a course of quinine saved my life. And to this day I've had only two operations - for tonsils as a child and piles as an adult. Cheerful and optimistic, I look upon life through fairly sanguine eyes.
Occasionally - perhaps two or three times a year when I am working very hard - I feel a bit low-spirited and everything requires greater mental effort.
It's almost like a masculine menstrual cycle of ups and downs. But, let's face it, there is not a lot to be depressed about.
Life has been good to me and I have everything I want except immortality.
My epitaph will be: Don't grieve for me. I did it all. I had it all. And I've left nothing undone.
My mother - who set me on the path to writing and instilled in me a love of words and books before I could even read - is very much alive at 86. I hope I'll be able to emulate her.
* MONSOON by Wilbur Smith (Macmillan, [pounds sterling]17.99).
