"I don't know if you know anything about me but I'm very much a drug person."

It's hard to imagine anyone in the audience who wasn't seduced by the smiling monochrome mug shot of Howard Marks which graced the front cover of his best-selling memoirs Mr Nice.

Even if the Welshman's rambling prose, with all that stoner's detail on nothing in particular, was pretty hard to penetrate, back in the late Nineties it became the What's The Story Morning Glory of the bookshelf.

But Marks' incredible life-story, from softly spoken Oxford graduate to softly spoken convict spending seven years in an American prison for smuggling marijuana, does not automatically translate into a good stand-up show.

This was especially apparent during the first half. For the first hour Marks told a plodding tale of his attempt to smuggle reindeer's urine through customs, which included some clever observations and facts but only a few laughs.

He may have long hair, a strong regional accent and a tendency to go off on a tangent but Marks hasn't got anywhere near the freewheeling wit of Ross Noble or sheer presence of Billy Connolly.

Marks was at his best after the interval though, when he relaxed into old memories rather than trying to come up with anything new and took part in a fascinating question and answer session.

As a comedian in a comedy festival, Marks is pretty lame legal herbs.

As a storyteller at a storytelling festival, however, he would be super-strength Himalayan mountain skunk from Nepal.