You may look upon the eldest and mightiest member of the beans as some kind of god-like being. Whilst he displays the kind of chin that women weep over and hair that would soften the heart of any miserable grandma, there is a darkness lurking within. It is only now that we can exclusively reveal a secret that has remained hidden for all these years.

You cannot judge a book by its cover and similarly you cannot judge a person for what they’re scared of. Phobias come in all shapes and sizes. You could be scared of balloons, clowns, Mensa or the touch of a crimson glove and that’s it, you can’t do anything about it, that’s you for life until you accidentally pass a circus and come across a super smart clown holding a helium balloon wearing red latex and throw yourself into the Thames. This doesn’t scare Ian; he’s afraid of Michael Buble.

Looking at that tiny baby-faced Canadian you may think how could such a thing happen? How could anyone have a fear of Buble? A Fuble? That’s not a thing. Whenever he hears anything by Buble on the radio he almost crashes his car trying to turn it off. Whenever he has a new album out and he’s promoting it like mad, Ian has to place himself in a hyperbolic chamber, sealed off from the rest of the world, until Buble disappears back to his mansion with all his grubby money. When Asda hired Buble last year for their Christmas adverts Ian nearly bit off his own tongue and collapsed in a corner. It was too much, the stress of Christmas combined with a swingly Buble ad campaign? It was clearly too much. Many a TV was smashed in December.

So why is he so afraid of him? We can only put together little pieces of information given how secretive the boy is and how you can’t say the man’s name without Ian filling a bowl with custard and plunging his head into it. It seems to trace back to one of two instances: either a two hour drive with his dad with a broken stereo and the same Buble song on repeat the entire time or a dream, a very vivid dream of Buble on all fours like a dog chasing Ian down the street and when he finally catches up to him, cornered in an alleyway, Buble opens his mouth and another Buble, dressed like Worzel Gummidge, climbs out and beats him over the head with a pez dispenser.

All very weird if you ask me. Still, it’s a little more interesting than yet another person who’s afraid of heights or confined spaces. Yawn-a-reeno!