Back in the Eighties, a French industrialist described Britain as an American aircraft carrier off the coast of Europe. And then last week Jacques Myard, a member of the French assembly, mocked the special relationship we claim to have with the US, hinting, with a rather cruel smile, that when it comes to foreign policy, they are the masters and we are the lapdogs, wagging our tails whenever they throw us a biscuit. Which isn’t very often.

It would be easy to scoff at this Gallic arrogance, arguing that while Monsieur Myard can sit under his wisteria enjoying some lovely cheese, his country’s antipathy towards America means that all the pop music on French radio is rubbish and that his government cannot afford a new aircraft carrier.

However, if you look at Gordon Brown’s recent trip to Washington, Johnny Frenchman would appear to have a point. Gordon gave Obama Barrack a penholder carved from the timbers of an antislavery ship. The sister ship, in fact, of the one that was broken up and turned into the desk in the Oval Office.

Barrack, meanwhile, gave Brown The Graduate on DVD. Which smacks of an “Oh, Christ. What shall we get him?” moment at the local petrol station.

Then we have the issue with crime. The British authorities have to present a robust prima-facie case to the American courts before we can extradite someone to the UK. Whereas an American cop can drag you across the Atlantic if he even so much as thinks your beard is a bit dodgy.

Trade? Well, I spoke over dinner the other day with the boss of a large British engineering company about the benefits of the special relationship when you are doing business in America. He snorted so explosively that large chunks of lamb and mashed potato shot out of his nose. “Special relationship!” he chortled. “There isn’t one.”

Certainly this was true during the Suez crisis, when America sat on its hands. It was also true when Harold Wilson refused to get involved with Vietnam.

And let’s not forget John Major either, who got all cross when Bill Clinton had Gerry Adams round to the White House for tea and buns.

Or how Bill got the hump with Major after details of his time at Oxford University were leaked to the press. Special relationship? Sounds more like a session at Relate to me.

Sure, Tony Blair was close to George Bush, but this, I fear, had nothing to do with Churchill’s dream and much to do with America’s need to claim its efforts in Iraq were “international”. A claim that was helped enormously by Blair’s wonky grasp of history. “My father’s generation went through the blitz. There was one country and one people which stood by us at that time. America and the American people.” Er. No they didn’t, Tony. They were too busy bankrupting the empire by charging £8 billion for two clapped-out first world war destroyers: the USS Weak and the USS Colander.

On a personal note, I find no evidence of a special relationship when I go to America. There is no fast-track lane through immigration for visiting Brits. The customs man always looks at me as if I’ve just chucked his tea into Boston harbour. And we have to answer questions about whether we’ve ever done genocide, just like everyone else.

Of course, it is hard for a civvie to say whether the special relationship exists in military circles. But certainly the troops I speak to tend to suggest not. When they’re asked what US forces are like in theatre, the answer is mostly unprintable, apart from a liberal use of the word “useless”.

To be fair, I can’t imagine that the Americans find us much cop as allies either. I mean, I can hardly see them queuing up to borrow our snatch Land Rovers or our Nimrods or our lumbering Sea Kings or indeed any of our hardware at all.

They probably think they are going into battle with a bunch of keen and well trained soldiers . . . from the Stone Age.

As further evidence, consider this. How many British bases are to be found on American soil? It’s, er, um, hang on . . . none. And how many US ones are to be found over here? To get an idea, try driving through Suffolk one day, past Mildenhall and Lakenheath. There are so many American cars on the road, you could be forgiven for thinking you were in Iowa.

Maybe we don’t help ourselves. Maybe we come across as a bit arrogant. According to Rowland White’s amazing new book Phoenix Squadron, when the first four Brits were sent to the new Top Gun academy in California, they didn’t much care for the “Maverick” and “Iceman” style of call sign adopted by their American counterparts. But their hosts insisted, so they came up with “Cholmondley”, “Dogbreath”, “Alien” and “Spastic”.

Interestingly, however, when I went to a US air force base in North Carolina a few years ago, I was shown the spec sheets for the F-15 fighter. Alongside each component was a box explaining which countries could know its secrets.

And there was only one country that was entitled to see the details of all of them. Not Israel. Not Saudi Arabia. It was us. Even though – or perhaps because – the RAF doesn’t actually have any F15s.

The best way, I think, of understanding how the special relationship works is to answer this question. When a visiting American actor comes here and makes nice noises about Britain, do you feel all warm, gooey and proud? I bet you do. Now think how it works the other way round. When a British actor goes over there and makes nice noises about America, do you think they even notice?

Honestly? I believe it’s time we stopped deluding ourselves about our relationship with America, which since the late 1940s has produced virtually nothing. And tried to make friends with the French. Because the last time we did that, the world got Concorde.

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