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
