JOHN SMEATON is hacked off. Big style. The former baggage handler, stuck in traffic near Edinburgh, is close to the boil. "I'm frustrated," he says. "Frus-tra-ted." A woman from the BBC snatches the phone from his hand. "You are cutting into our schedule," she tells me. "It's our last day of filming with John. Do you know the trouble you've caused?"

I'm hacked off too. It's dark, freezing. I'm in an unheated warehouse in a shady part of Glasgow. Smeaton was supposed to arrive two hours ago for a photo-shoot. The stylist wants to kill someone, the photographer stopped speaking to me half an hour ago; if we don't get the borrowed suits back to the store, both Dolce and Gabbana will want my head on a plate. "I'm no' going to make it," says Smeaton. "This is really starting to piss me off."

The hold-up is due to a meeting with first minister Alex Salmond, who wanted to congratulate Smeaton in person for his inclusion on the New Year Honours list and his nomination for a Queen's Gallantry Medal. "I couldn't just blow out the first minister," says Smeaton. "If it was anyone else I would have told him I was too busy."

The woman from the BBC takes the phone, fires off some generic complaints. She has been filming Smeaton for a documentary to be aired next month. Such is the daily life of Smeaton since his part in thwarting the terrorist attack on Glasgow Airport on June 30.

He has spent months pointing out that he was not the only hero on the day; that he actually didn't do very much. That was the gist of his acceptance speech for a CNN Heroes award on December 6 in America, and everyone lapped it up. He expressed similar sentiments at the 9/11 memorial service in New York in September, which he describes as "the most poignant and humbling moment of my life". His past belief in the conspiracy theories surrounding the Twin Towers attacks were swept away.

"The most disrespectful thing I've ever seen was these people walking about with T-shirts blaming the American government for the attack," he says. "Take that and shove it as far up your arse as you can get it."

My first meeting with Smeaton takes place two days before the doomed photo-shoot, at Glasgow International Airport. He is running late. Every time someone in a high-visibility jacket walks by I think it's him. The fluorescent vest has become something of a Superman's cape for Smeaton, who was wearing it when the first images of him were projected around the world. In person he is shorter than the legend; like Braveheart, he shoots no fireballs from his eyes or lightning bolts from his arse.

He remembers the events of June 30 clearly, mostly because he has recounted them so often. He was angry, it being the busiest day of the year at the airport. He had just finished loading golf clubs on to a plane and was outside having a cigarette. When he heard a commotion, he thought there had been a car crash. On seeing the smoking Jeep Cherokee, loaded with propane canisters, and two belligerent passengers, he lost control.

"I seen the guy jumping oot and hitting the policeman and I was just like - charge! I ran at him shouting, Bring that here' and caught him with the Barton Fly Kick." Is that a martial arts move? "No, it's just jumping up and booting the guy as hard as you can. My mate Barton does it."

The move diverted the man's attention, but only momentarily. "I still think, Why didn't I rugby-tackle him?' Why did I no' just dive in and grab him by the legs?" With the help of a security guard, Smeaton pulled holidaymaker Michael Kerr - who had broken his leg in the fray - to safety, away from the burning vehicle.

He knows his celebrity is less about what he did than what he said afterwards. His message to ITN News - that "Glasgow doesnae accept this ... we'll set aboot ye" - somehow spoke for the city, if not the whole of Scotland, making him, and us, seem quite hard. Which was part of his motivation. "I had visions of the second world war going through my head, the people of the Blitz staunin' there taking it and still getting on with things. And I thought, This is no different - the British people will not lie down and curl over'."

He was impressed by Gordon Brown's firm handshake and the fact the prime minister gave him a tour of Downing Street. Being recognised by Billy Connolly in a Glasgow pub was another highlight. "Billy was brilliant," he says. "Walter Smith, Barry Ferguson, Ally McCoist ... they're people you thought you'd never meet in your life."

The 31-year-old has lived with his parents in Erskine since splitting with his girlfriend earlier this year. He is currently seeing a New Yorker he met at an American Scottish Foundation reception in September. Other propositions have come by post. "They say stuff like You're my hero', or You're gorgeous,'. But I'm shy. Maybe someone with a lot more balls than me would think, I'll have a go at this burd', but I just feel kind of flattered."

Whether he moves to New York to be with his new partner, or she comes here, is still up for debate. He couldn't leave Scotland for long, but thinks New York would make a good second home. "It's just like Glasgow," he says. "If they don't like what you're doing they'll tell you straight away. I thought Glasgow women were upfront but, jeez-oh, those New York women are mental."

He has refused most offers, including a chance to work the lucrative motivational talk circuit in the States. His column in the Sun is good for "ripping into people" but other opportunities don't appeal. "What I really want to do is get up in the morning, sit on my backside and play computer games all day. And go fishing whenever I can. Some people might find that incredibly boring but, hey, that's my ideal life."

The morning after the failed photo-shoot, Smeaton arrives at the Glasgow warehouse to be suited and booted. He whips his kit off behind a Chinese screen, emerges transformed. He says he feels like a Reservoir Dog, apart from the creaking new shoes that hurt his toes. If he's a natural in front of the camera, it's largely because he ignores it. "If I'm on the telly I never watch it; if my picture's somewhere I just don't look. I've no' got time."

He is looking forward to a break from work before taking up his new position as head of security at a Glasgow car park next month. "It's an opportunity I couldn't say no to," he says. "You've got to grab things with both hands." He will need time off for his trip to Buckingham Palace to receive his medal, but it's unlikely to go to his head.

"I'm just John Smeaton," he says. "I was a baggage handler, and I am now going to work in a car park."