Nearly everyone is proud of the place where they were born and raised. You see them singing loudly at the last night of the Proms or before a national sporting fixture gets under way, and you think: “Yes. If I were there, I’d be singing loudly too.”

But in a yawning and fathomless bout of insomnia last night I struggled to think of a single thing that we in Britain could be proud of.

If it was 1875 then yes, we could be proud of our Royal Navy and how Britain was an international byword for fairness, dignity, politeness and only shooting large numbers of unarmed people if they really deserved it.

But now we’ve had to apologise to the Irish for messing with their potatoes and His Toniness has admitted that our role in the slave trade was a crime against humanity. And that most black people in Barbados or St Lucia would be much better off if they’d still been in Darfur or the Ivory Coast.

Certainly, then, we can’t be proud of our prime minister. The man who thanked America for standing beside us in the blitz, even though what they were actually doing was emptying our gold reserves in exchange for some chocolate bars and a couple of rusty first world war destroyers.

Then we have the armed services. Twenty-five years ago we struggled to beat Argentina, but there’d be no struggle these days. We’d lose. And now there are noisy voices calling on the government to ditch the one remaining pillar of our armed superiority — our nuclear submarines.

So what about industry? Well sure, in 1851 visitors to the Great Exhibition might have felt a stirring of pride amid the coal and steam and brass. But now people are saying this was a crime against humanity as well, because it somehow made the sky poorly.

Today all we make is a jolly snazzy vacuum cleaner. Or do we? Its inventor, James Dyson, talks of the time, just 30 years ago, when he needed people and companies to make components for that wheelbarrow that had a ball instead of a wheel.

He remembers going to Birmingham and after just a few minutes finding a plethora of suppliers who could not only provide the metal tubing but cut it, bend it and coat it as well.

Then he started making vacuum cleaners, but almost nothing came from Britain. “Our British three-pin plugs were made in Malaysia. Our polycarbonate plastics came from Korea. Our electronics came from Taiwan. It was a logistical nightmare,” he said.

But not any more, because now his vacuum cleaners are made in Malaysia and all the components come from factories within 10 miles. As a result the people there really do have something to sing about in their Rast Night of the Ploms.

But us? Well, when pushed, we’re told by politicians that we can be proud of our tolerance. What tolerance? The tolerance that stops people wearing crosses while reading the news? Or the tolerance that means 13% of those in jail in Britain — more than 9,000 people — hold a foreign passport? A lot of what actually makes a nation proud these days is the sporting success of its national teams. Hmm. As I write, the England rugby team have lost to the South Africans, the Welsh have lost to New Zealand and Scotland were routed by the Aussies who, on the other side of the world, are celebrating going 2-0 up in the Ashes. Meanwhile, members of our football team and David Coulthard continue to be paid very well for reasons I can’t quite understand.

Of course, we shall be proud when Britain hosts the 2012 Olympics, but only if the stadiums are built on time and all the athletes aren’t blown to smithereens by a Pakistani who came to live here because we’re so proud of our tolerance. And even then I bet we only win one bronze for pushing kettles around on some ice.

Today, then, there are only a handful of things in which Britain really does set an example to the world. The BBC. The SAS. The NHS. And our huge and unique choice of national newspapers. Land of Hope, maybe. But Glory? Not any more.

This brings us, naturally, to the Mini. The original was an inspired concept — from a chap with the super-British handle of Issigonis — and it came to represent an embodiment of that whole Paul ’n’ Ringo, Carnaby Street, miniskirt thing. But that, like everything else which stirs our jingo soup, was a long time ago. For the last 30 years of its life, you bought one only because it was British. The new one, on the other hand, you buy because it looks great, it goes well and it has a nice personality. For some time it has been the best small car.

But now I’m not so sure because I’ve just spent a week with the Suzuki Swift Sport.

It looks like the Mini, which means it looks fantastic, and it’s practical too. Even though it has deep bucket seats in the front — possibly the best seats fitted to a car since the Renault Fuego turbo went west — there’s still enough space in the back for three children. And the boot’s quite spacious as well.

Under the bonnet you get a 1.6 litre engine which, if you really grit your teeth, will get you from 0-62mph in less than 9sec and onwards to a top speed of 124. But you really have to be determined to make it go that fast. The last few mph always feel like they’ve come from the car’s heart rather than its engine.

That makes it feel endearing and human, and it’s much the same story in the bends. It gives you the fun of a much faster car but at half the speed. They’ve given it traction control, but I don’t know why. The chassis is so good it doesn’t really need it.

And it’s such a nice place to be. I hate it when Japanese car makers try to give their small cars a sporty feel on the inside by fitting hideous “sporting” trim. It’s a bit like a 16-year-old girl trying to look 35 with crap jewellery and far too much make-up. But the Swift pulls it off perfectly. Quite apart from the brilliant seats, the steering wheel is thick. And the dash is enlivened by just one piece of aluminium trim. Good stereo, too.

And here’s a little bit of parsley to enliven the dish still further. It costs £11,499. Which means it’s about £1,500 cheaper than a Mini Cooper.

Yes, if you thump the roof lining of a Mini you get a dull, satisfying thud whereas if you thump the roof lining of a Swift it sort of clangs. This means the Mini is a more relaxing and quiet companion on the motorway. And I must also say at this point that the Mini should do 48.7mpg, compared with the Swift’s 39.2.

But I don’t care. The Swift offers you something not used by Foxtons estate agency. I’ve been toying with giving it five stars but won’t, for two reasons. First, it is a bit noisy, and second, it takes ages for the engine to deliver any warm air to the cabin on a cold morning.

Tiny faults in what’s a great little car. Sure, it’s built in China, Japan, India and Hungary so it’s not quite as British as the Mini, but for me that’s not such a bad thing.

If it is for you, why not simply buy one and paint a Union Jack on the roof. People do that with their Minis even though some of the engines came from South America and the company is run by a bunch of Germans.

Vital statistics

Model Suzuki Swift Sport
Engine 1586cc, four cylinders
Power 123bhp @ 6800rpm
Torque 109 lb ft @ 4800rpm
Transmission Five-speed manual
Fuel/CO2 39.2mpg (combined) / 175g/km
Acceleration 0-62mph: 8.9sec
Top speed 124mph
Price £11,499
Rating 4/5
Verdict A worthy rival to the Mini — and it’s not British either

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