I once heard from the words of a Scot, "The Isles were never more united than when we worked together to kick in the shite of some brown *[original c-word redacted] 'people' in order to get their tea and spices*.
Perhaps. Perhaps. I think it's more a case that once most of the world appropriated our Parliamentary system of government, our laws and common rights, our scientific apparatus and academic model of inquiry, they had nothing left to need us for. The only thing left are all of our great writers and musicians, and perhaps rightly, many of those artists choose to express themselves freely as independent, kindred spirits, and belonging to no nation.
Besides, given that all the good stuff about Anglo culture is generally universally accepted among the wealthiest of the world, there isn't much legitimacy for Joe Bloggs to take exceptional claim for any of John Bull's deeds, so all that is left is for everybody to be scapegoated for apparent generational crimes against the Third World, and working class vulgarity. The bowler hat mandarin reading the paper on the train into Whitehall is dead, long live Mr. Wobbly Guts McFarmer's Tan in an East Ham shirt throwing up in an alley somewhere in Magaluf.