If Los Angeles were to cede from the United States tomorrow and declared itself the 33rd borough of London, I’m not sure anyone would notice. You just can’t avoid the British in LA these days, and it’s not all the fault of David Beckham.

Even Sir Terry Leahy, the cheif executive of Tesco, can be found pacing Hollywood’s Walk of Fame. That’s where he’s planning to open a new supermarket, Fresh & Easy, in a building known as the Galaxy Complex (proving, perhaps, that the British think that anything with the word “Galaxy” in it will appeal to the Angelenos). And then there’s the BBC, which has been trying to promote its BBC World channel in LA by erecting giant jigsaw pieces in the shape of countries (Iran, China, etc) at busy intersections. The slogan? “See the world you’ve been missing”. Now, maybe it’s just me, but isn’t this a bit patronising? The Beeb might as well have just come out and said it: “Be Less Stupid, Los Angeles.” Seriously, though: “The world you’ve been missing?” Half the city doesn’t even speak English.

Naturally, there’s a problem with this British cultural imperialism: even the British in LA are beginning to find the British in LA annoying. Nothing seems to be immune. The once-staid Los Angeles Times, for example, is becoming the Daily Mail. Nothing else could explain the supplement dedicated to Posh Spice on Sunday, in which she deployed some of the most inconsequential anecdotes this side of a Paris Hilton memoir. Gems from the article included the revelation that a friend of Posh’s mum had once failed to buy her a pair of black satin trousers, like the ones Olivia Newton-John wore in Grease. “I still look at her and say, ‘You cow!’,” huffed Mrs B. “You should never promise a child something and not come up with it.”

I’m baffled. Since when have Americans, never mind Angelenos, had so much time for all things Blighty? Didn’t it used to be the other way around? Even British food is in vogue: a new “gastropub” in Melrose Avenue, the Village Idiot, has just started to serve bangers and mash and warm beer – on 110F summer days. As for shopping, everyone from Paul Smith to Stella McCartney has an LA store: just this week, in fact, a new miniature Topshop opened in Charlie Chaplin’s former dance studio. As for entertainment, TV executives in Hollywood still can’t get enough of TV shows based around the format of well-educated Britons criticising the singing/childcare/entrepreneurialship/ tap-dancing abilities of usually less well-educated Americans.

It’s all good for business, I suppose: UK, plc. And yet . . . I miss the old days; the time when the British didn’t see LA as market opportunity for exporting culture, but as a place of indulgence. A place, dare I say it, to have mindless sex in public places with strangers. Yes, Hugh Grant and George Michael – we miss you.

If only LA Galaxy had bought Wayne Rooney instead.

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