So what was it that ultimately made it all feel lukewarm and unsatisfactory? There were small hitches, such as non-working microphones—which many might consider reassuringly British anyway. The mayor, an amiable old buffer who decided to address the assembly from a seated position, rambled listlessly on and on, describing the various attractions and transport links the borough had to offer as though he were selling it to a convention of tour operators. He listed famous residents past and present who, he felt compelled to mention, included a few contestants from TV talent shows. It was hard to pay attention to all this, which was moreover somewhat beside the point.

As my newly-British friend and his Nepalese flatmate remarked as we had a coffee afterwards, shouldn't there have been something  just a little more stirring about what it means to be a British citizen? About our democratic traditions, our values, our belief in freedom of speech? This year is the 800th anniversary of the signing of Magna Carta; wouldn't this have been worth a mention? Could there not have been something which demonstrated what was particular and special about Britain?

The tests and information packs these new Britons are given probably cover much of this material. But the ceremony is the climax to all that, and something memorable, something inspiring, is called for.

And, one could say, something increasingly necessary. We're at one of those times when a resounding statement of our beliefs, traditions and values is vital. I've often heard from those who have come here as immigrants a genuine bewilderment at Britain's apparent unwillingness to stand up for or be proud of these things. Are not such citizenship ceremonies the perfect place in which to make a start? Contrary to what many an inhibited Brit would assume, among the very newest of us such an affirmation of national identity would find an appreciative audience.