Don't misunderstand: I'm not some flag-waving patriot, swinging from a red postbox with a Charles & Di memorial mug gripped between my jaws.
In fact, I abhor nationalism, and I think that comes, in part, from belonging to a nation that doesn't have any real idea of what it is to have national pride.
We seem to be a country that fumbles in trying to define itself. On the one hand, we don't want to let go of tradition... and on the other we don't want to be seen as old fashioned. Plus, it doesn't help that so much of what it was to be British - specifically English, let's face it - is wrapped up with how we stamped all over the rest of the world.
Still, it isn't like that has ever stopped the Americans...
I feared Scotland gaining independence, because so much of who I am comes from Scotland; I spent a big chunk of my formative years up there. Losing Scotland would've somehow meant losing part of myself. In part, that might be attributed to wanting to borrow that sense of identity and pride the Scots seem to have; as a kid, I told people I was from Scotland. I didn't think telling them I was English really meant anything.
And yet... I can watch a TV show or read a book, and say it feels British - English even - without really being able to articulate why. Too bad there aren't any games about which I can say the same thing.
Foreigners seem to have a better sense of who we are: according to some, we're unfailingly polite, binge-drinking, tea-sipping, emotionally-repressed royalists, with a limp grasp of dentistry, and terrible cuisine.
Some of that might be even be accurate.
Part of me envies those who feel like they share in some sort of national identity and pride. The Union Jack, unfortunately, means little to me; it's either a fashion icon, or used by the right to flick the buttocks of Muslims.
Whether they're indie games or big triple-A blockbusters, few games seem to evoke a sense of Britishness. Even our biggest UK games development success story - Rockstar Games - seems intent on creating games that are a celebration of American culture (albeit, arguably, from a cynical perspective).
Obviously, Assassin's Creed Syndicate was set in London, as was The Order 1886, but it was a London that those overseas seem to expect: one still stuck in the gaslit, Victorian era, shrouded in smog. It was Theme Park London, and played all the greatest hits with its workshops and urchins.
BEST OF BRITISH
In 2014, The Guardian published a list of the top 30 British video games.
Only three of them - 1996's Tomb Raider, 1984's Skool Daze, and Goldeneye - featured a protagonist who was recognisably British (and one of those was James Bond). Jet Set Willy was there of course, and though Miner Willy's ethnicity is never explicitly stated... the fact he's suffering a raging hangover and can visit the off licence, suggests the game is set on home turf. So we can include him.
The remainder, however, featured the likes of Arkham Asylum, Burnout Paradise, Lego Star Wars, Manhunt, Singstar and DJ Hero. Not a one of them could be said to express any sort of real British identity. They're tailored to be as broadly accessible as possible, to an international audience.
That's understandable: potential customers don't need to be scared off by making the lead character Prince William or something. By the same token, most games that aren't based in an entirely fantasy setting, either feature an American lead character, or are set in America, or at least wave the flag for American culture (literally in the case of most of the Call of Duty games) - whether their origin is American, British, Japanese, or Russian.
Frankly, we're all so inured to Americana that it's hardly going to put any of us off, so why do we feel that they don't want to play games with a British backdrop?
The last game I played that felt familiarly British was Zombi-U; a game that really deserved a wider audience. Growing up, every other game I played felt British. Yes, Skool Daze, but also Jack the Nipper, Everyone's a Wally, Rockstar Ate My Hamster, Urban Upstart... And I honestly lament their passing. I always get a thrill at seeing London or the British countryside in a game.
I enjoyed Rockstar's Bully, but it failed to live up to my hopes that it would be a proper update on the Skool Daze/Back To Skool template. For me, those games were all about being set in a school that I recognised. Setting Bully in an American prep school, with panty raids and skateboards, lost me.
I get that this is all nostalgia to a degree.
I understand that entertainment is becoming globally homogenised. Kids no longer all watch the same British-produced shows, so the cultural touchstones have fragmented.
There's so much choice, and so much of it comes from America, that our identity - such that it was - is being overwritten.
Which is fine, probably.
I mean, Britain as we know it is relatively new. We've always been a nation of immigrants. Hell, we're a planet of immigrants: if Lucy's descendants hadn't decided to have a nice holiday one day, we'd all still be stuck in Africa. There's virtually no such thing as indigenous people whatsoever once you go far enough back. Indigenous Australians have only been in Australia about 50,000 years, and the Native Americans got there by crossing a land bridge from Eurasia.
So when you look at it like that, me whingeing about the lack of red telephone boxes in video games borders on the pathetic. Nevertheless, it'd be nice if a few more developers took the risk that Britain, as a nation, has something to say without needing to roll out the plummy-voiced stereotypes, or lazy steampunkery?
In the 21st Century, what is it that makes us British really - and how can video games reflect that?