TOM: Mark was weaned on rock'n'roll. You could put him on the couch with a cushion and a bottle, and as long as music was playing he'd lie there happily. But as soon as that record stopped: 'Waaaaaa!' I'd run to change it, and he'd start sucking the bottle again. He loves music.

Mark has a lovely voice, but he couldn't get up and sing. He's like my father: he got the voice but not the showmanship. I got them both. I'd have liked that for Mark, if he wanted. I don't see anything wrong in show business - I've enjoyed it so much.

It's worked well, him being my manager. He's always thrown his two-penn'orth in, and nine times out of 10 he's right. He knows how to deal with me. We're not parent and child, we're friends. But we can go at it. It's a Welsh thing. When we were on the road together we argued. He'd go on about something in music, and I'd go: 'Wait a minute, what do you know?' Then I'd say: 'F this. I'm going back to Wales.' I don't know why I'd say that. I must've been drunk. But Wales was like a security blanket.

Mark's had a life most kids haven't had with their fathers. We became closer as men than we did when I was a teenager and he was a little boy, and that was through working together. We got older together.

Mark was born in April 1957 and I turned 17 that June. I never worried about having a wife and child young. It was like becoming a man - fast! I was working in a paper mill on the night shift. The foreman would every so often go to call the hospital. He'd come back and say: 'It's triplets!' He was pulling my leg. Then he'd say: 'No word yet.' I went home, slept, got up at noon and went to the telephone box - which I've since bought and have in LA. When they said, 'You have a son,' I felt taller. All men, I think, want sons, but I didn't mind as long as my wife was all right. She was 16. Once you've had a son... I mean, a daughter would have been nice. But my wife couldn't have more, for some unknown reason.

In those days we were considered teddy boys. You wouldn't go to Cardiff by yourself because there were gangs of city boys there. But I thought: 'Who could touch me? I have a son!' I went in and there he was. He was fantastic.

When I was born, my father registered my name without my mother knowing. When he came back from the register office she said, 'Keith would be a nice name,' and he said: 'Too late, his name's Tom, same as mine.' My mother played hell about it. I'd have liked to call my son Tom, but I didn't, because my mother said: 'For goodness' sake don't put that on him.' So I said to Linda, 'It's up to you,' and she picked Mark Stephen Woodward. My family name is Woodward; Jones is my mother's maiden name.

I started singing in clubs about the time he was born, so I wasn't around him much. I went to London in 1964, and my wife would come to see me, but I didn't see my son unless I went back to Pontypridd. I wanted to, but I was very preoccupied. From 1965 I started going to America a lot - the records were as big there as here. I didn't have time to be in Wales, but I thought as long as I was sending money home it was okay.

When the money started rolling in from It's Not Unusual, I bought a house in Shepperton and said: 'Now we can have Mark with us.' That was 1966. I enjoyed going to pick him up from school.

The mothers would be: 'Ooooh, there's Tom Jones!'

He was a shy child. He spent a lot of time in his room listening to music. Later, there'd be six-month tours; it affected him more than I realised. He came out for school holidays wherever I was, and always seemed fine. But one night, when he was 15, we went to a restaurant and he was very quiet. Linda said: 'He's missing you a lot now.' We talked it over and she said: 'Do you think he could travel with you?' I said: 'Yeah, as long as it's okay with his school.'

After that, he was with me on the road. He enjoyed it, but he drank too much. I wasn't a saint, so I'd say 'Be careful' rather than 'Don't.'