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If “we” – that is, Scotland – get knocked out of football’s World Cup, then he instantly transfers his allegiance to England. There you have the measure of his nationalism, or lack of it, since many of his fellow Scots see their enemy’s enemy as their friend, turning into ardent Brazil fans if England are up against them.

But what about the Rugby World Cup? “I was hoping England would win. I just don’t like the antagonism that exists in some parts [of Scotland]. I find it uncomfortable. I once had an English girlfriend who came up to work in Scotland, and I got into fights because people would take the piss out of her accent, and I just couldn’t be arsed with it, because it’s so boring and so ignorant. Come on guys, it’s a big world out there and yes, she’s an English girl.”

But what about the England-France semi-final? “Ah, yes. Well, obviously she [Eve] would support France. My daughters get to choose. I was watching it with my eldest, Clara. She was going to support France and me England, but then when England scored a try in the opening seconds, I could see her face fall and I said, ‘Darling, if you want to support England, do so,’ and she did.”

The family, clearly, is central to his life. He says as much, describing it as his backbone, and anticipates the question about how hard it must be for them, and indeed for Charley Boorman’s family, when they are off being boys on bikes. He and Eve have been together since their early twenties, and seen many of their contemporaries’ marriages come to grief. “Listen,” he says, “we’ve had our ups and downs like everyone else, but we are happy, and I can’t imagine it being any other way.” At the same time, he foresees no slackening of his appetite for “discovering the world, seeing what it’s really like in these amazingly remote places… The sense of self-challenge, the bonding between me and my mates.” He says that both he and Boorman go with the blessings of their families, adding: “We wouldn’t do it this way again. Next time, we will break it up and make sure that we can see the children. There’s no element of wanting to get away from them. We come back with great stories, and they’re very involved, we’re on the phone every day, and we send them video clips. The hardest part is being away from them.”

There was another potential cause of friction, far more serious than the rugby, when his beloved older brother Colin, a now retired RAF fighter pilot, was serving in Iraq. The two have been close since their childhood in the small Perthshire town of Crieff. Asked how he felt about his brother being in Iraq, Ewan’s response was that he was extremely proud of him, but at the same time wished just as passionately that he didn’t have to be there.

Did his opposition to the war threaten to cause a rift? “No. If ever there was a problem, I suppose it was when he started. That was at the time of the first Gulf war. He was starting his training and I was starting mine, in these completely different jobs. My worry is that no one ever seems to be accountable. Why is that? Why can national leaders take us into wars like this for reasons that are based on lies? Why is it that they are above being accountable?”

This year he went flying with Colin, the first time he’d ever ridden pillion in his brother’s ultimate speed machine. “I’d never seen him at work before,” says Ewan. “I could see his face down the side of the helmet, and there he was, in charge of this effing rocket of a plane. We flew from Lossiemouth, where he’s been stationed for most of his career. When we took off, he said, ‘We’ll go to 2,000ft and do some low-level stuff.’ We spent ten minutes skipping over the mountains and glens and it was the most exhilarating thing in the world. You can’t see anything coming up, can’t prepare yourself for corners, and then suddenly you’re in them, with the G-force pushing the blood back into your legs. I was queasy for days.”

And playing Iago to 250 people is harder than all that? He nods emphatically. Maybe the trademark laddishness is just what is needed here. After all, Iago, embittered at being passed over for promotion by Othello (played at the Donmar by Chiwetel Ejiofor), seeks to ingratiate himself wherever he can to bring about his master’s destruction. His mission may be the result of “motiveless malignity”, as Coleridge suggested, but it is pursued with damnable skill. As director Michael Grandage observes, the character is as much an actor as the person who portrays him.

When Patrick Stewart was in Othello on stage, he became so appalled by Iago that he wanted nothing more to do with him. McGregor, meanwhile, has barely got to know him, and is spending his days trying to inhabit the character. As with the biking, there are people around to help, but ultimately he’s on his own. It’s a big journey and it’s taking him a long way down.

Othello is at the Donmar Warehouse, Earlham Street, London from November 30 to February 23 (0870 0606624; www.donmarwarehouse.com). Although sold out, ten seats are available on the day for each performance, on sale at the box office from 10.30am; standing tickets will also be available on the day. See Ewan MacGregor visit a project run by Riders for Health, The Times Christmas charity, on his Long Way Down journey. Go to timesonline.co.uk/timesappeal

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