Before we met, my friend Dave said he imagined me as a 6' Highlander. He is too polite to have expressed relief, delight, disappointment, consternation etc. when we actually met. If, rubbing his eyes in disbelief, he had insisted on measuring my height before kindly inviting me into his house, he would have found I measured a respectable 5' 5½". Not the tallest man he'd ever met, by any means, but probably not the titchiest either.
As for the Highlander bit, I couldn't do much about that. Although I worked for 27 years in the north of Scotland, no drop of tartan blood courses through my veins. No trace of Scots accent spices my speech. Occasionally I betray a quarter of a century in Scotland by using 'shall' where other English might use 'will', by saying 'garridge' instead of 'gararge', ' and 'Aberdeen-shyer' instead of 'Aberdeen-sher'. Sometimes 'ettle' comes out instead of fidget, be impatient to do something, 'jalouse' for suspect or infer, and 'stushie' for row or uproar.
But never have I been known to say 'wee mannie' instead of little bloke. (Well, I did once: at the Aviemore or Coylumbridge ice-rinks the kids used to enjoy taking a dozen running-start steps on ice skates, then crouching down on their haunches and seeing if they could slide to the other end of the rink without stopping. This was called 'doing wee mannies'.)
Actually when I started writing this my theme was going to be lack of height as a psychological drive to exercise of power, as evidenced by
Addendum: Nothing to do with the above, but in regard to the post below, Round The Block, some have asked for photos. To supply this need was with us the work of a moment: here are firstly Wobbly, the dog up the lane (with his friend, don't know its name) who barks at passers-by, and secondly Lady (pron. 'laddy') the donkey with her two friends (don't know their names either). Photo 2, with two artistic repoussoir trees, by J.