One such fear is that on which the criminal justice system is based. And, like most fears, it’s not entirely rational.
I’m talking of course about the myth that any infraction of the law can and very well might result in long term incarceration in a grey-walled, spartan prison cell. Then, once ensconced in this sorry hell-hole, you’ll be immediately two-ed up with a large, unfeeling beast who goes by the name of Big Bubba and personally organises an extreme, violating, 'welcome to chokey' party that you’ll never forget.
Through a combination of shrewd tactical know-how, ruthless flint-faced calculation and incredible self-belief, he came to be acknowledged, with all respect, as The Godfather.
But to everyone else, he is simply, Fergie.
Born and raised in the bucolic village of Govan, where a pastoral, sleepy setting camouflaged an underbelly of inherent corruption and wrongdoing, the young Don Fergie instinctively appreciated how self-respect, hard work and, most of all, loyalty to the family could lead to success and fulfilment.
And he doesn’t even have a nice personality.
I say 'he' because I’ve always seen Mr Booze as a particularly masculine sort of substance. Oh, I know it can turn women mental too – believe me I know – but nevertheless, there’s something essentially mannish about The Swally.
Not very subtle. A bit brutish, sometimes. Not easily given to compromise, but, in the right circumstances and controlled quantities, not a bad bloke really.
Having lived in New Zealand for a couple of years, I generally find your average Kiwi to be amazingly Scot-like in his demeanour and mien – a bit dour and remote until you got to know him, but then funny, engaging, loyal and fiercely patriotic.
That initial crabbiness could well be - like ours - a result of having a larger, more confident nation as neighbours (in their case Australia, in ours, of course, Wales), a neighbour what’s more, who constantly delights in making cheap stereotypical jokes at the expense of the poor old put upon Kiwi or Scot.