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Making himself comfortable on the couch, he doesn’t seem stressed or anxious. There’s the suggestion of compact strength beneath his fleece top, and when he speaks in his recognisably Glaswegian accent he is open and enthusiastic.

Chances are you’ll have heard Smeaton’s voice. On July 1, the day after the terrorist attack on Glasgow International Airport, he was the bloke who told the world that, “Glasgow doesnae accept this. If you come tae Glasgow, we’ll set about ye.”

He was being interviewed on television because, when the 4x4 packed with gas cylinders crashed into the airport’s security bollards and caught fire, it was Smeaton who ran to the aid of the police officer who was attempting to subdue the two terrorists involved. Smeaton proceeded to aim kicks at the terrorists (prompting The Daily Record’s “I Kicked Burning Terrorist In Balls” headline), and helped move an injured man to safety. He’d been outside taking a cigarette break at the time. “I didn’t assess what was happening,” he recalls. “I just ran at the guy. It was a situation I never in my wildest dreams thought I’d be involved in. But the way it’s turned out has been surreal. You couldn’t write the script.”

Smeaton has always stressed that there were others involved in the intervention against the terrorists, such as Michael Kerr, Stephen Clarkson and Alex McIlveen. But his actions and subsequent interview established the baggage handler of 13 years as an overnight hybrid of celebrity and folk hero. Tributes in video and song were posted online within days (“Johnny Boy, we’re not beaten/they’ve got bombs/we’ve got Smeaton” was the chorus of one fists-aloft punk paean). The Sun in Scotland gave him his own column and “Smeatomania” became an actual word. The enduring interest and enthusiasm is patently down to, rather than in spite of, Smeaton’s self-described “Joe Bloggs” status.

“Life isn’t exciting,” he smiles. “It’s monotonous at the best of times. At the start of the year, I was thinking, God, I want this to be my last year at the airport. I was looking forward to things like [computer game] Halo 3 coming out and the fishing season starting again.”

Before his sudden fame, socialising might have involved drinks in Glasgow with a “wee group of friends” followed by a gig at the Soundhaus venue. It’s a routine he’s not done in a while. “Since all this happened, I’ve not really enjoyed going out. People recognise me. Now, if I was someone like Noel Gallagher, they might be a bit more…” he trails off, affecting a mix of bashfulness and awe. “But when they see me, it’s, ‘Smeats! How ya doin’ mate?!’ My friends end up getting annoyed. It’s not worth it.”

As a bachelor, is it easier or more difficult to meet eligible women now? He grimaces. “A lot, lot harder. Before this, if I met a lassie and we had a chat and a drink, I might think, ‘Great, she likes me!” Now when a lass starts talking to me, is it because she likes me? Or because of who I am?” he asks. “Even in the queue for the cashpoint, I’ve had people insist that I go before them.”

Above the living room fireplace is his Pride of Britain award. It’s next to a piece of World Trade Center steel, given to him by New York City Mayor Michael Bloomberg when he was a guest at the September 11 memorial service. He’s received standing ovations at the Labour Party conference and before a Glasgow Rangers game, though he still works four days on, two days off at the airport. Media interest shows no sign of abating (Wall Street Journal? FHM? Yet another BBC interview?), and his free time is squeezed more and more tightly as everyday things such as dentist’s appointments are booked, promptly forgotten and missed.

“Sometimes, I think I just want to sit and play on my computer,” he sighs, before grinning slightly. “Really, I don’t know how Posh Spice does it. But she wants the fame, and if it ends, her life would be ruined. But if it ends for me, honestly, I wouldn’t give a toss.”

The Tates

Yorkshire family who lost their home to the worst summertime floods the country has seen for decades

June 26 2007, though wet, was for most people a day like any other. For Matthew and Vicki Tate, it began with the electricity failing. By lunchtime they were bailing water out of the front door, by afternoon the ground floor of their house was under a foot of water, and within 24 hours they, their five children and two-month-old foster child were homeless.

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