In August this year, the most famous Scotsman in cinema history turned eighty. Gazing out from the silvery chiaroscuro on the back cover of Christopher Bray’s new biography, the octogenarian Sean Connery looks in fine fettle. The Droeshout brow. The Errol Flynn whiskers. The loosely coiled fist, propping up a rugged cheek, which puts you in mind of his early days as a body builder. And is that metallic tassel, creeping above the collar, a stray tuft of the migratory Connery pelt?