The issue of Brits abroad is a regular visitor to the letters pages of our national newspapers. Indeed, it is often seen as a close cousin to that other bugbear of national concern, football hooliganism. Lurking in the background of both debates is the belief that bad behaviour abroad stems from some kind of latent superiority complex, the arrogance of Empire, the egocentric belief that Britain still rules the waves.

But if it's all about Empire then what about the other European countries? Belgium, France, Germany, Holland and Spain, like Britain, all had great Empires. Why do their citizens no longer feel the urge to boast about it the moment they set foot on foreign soil?

Perhaps we should look to our more recent history for answers. The Second World War and the noble defence of Britain's shores is still resonant in the minds of many, and rightfully so. But is this brave victory grounds for a lingering imperialistic swagger? The US citizens, lest we forget, also have proud memories of the Second World War, but they don't allow this to burden their behaviour abroad.

As an island nation we are naturally insular. When we look across the water we see countries with whom we have experienced centuries of conflict. But while suspicion may be understandable, it still doesn't explain the modern British holidaymaker's apparent contempt for the local customs of other nations.

Some blame it all on our love affair with the booze. Alcohol is obviously a crucial catalyst in many instances of bad behaviour abroad, but it can't be the whole story. All European nations like their drink, especially the Germans, but they are either more responsible in their drinking, or more discreet.

There has always been a natural boisterousness to the British holiday spirit, but the sad fact is that when Brits go abroad, their reputation precedes them. In resorts across the world, locals steel themselves for the arrival of the barbarians from the north. Each year, hoteliers and waiters make mental preparations for angry confrontations with sunburnt men in Union Jack shorts demanding fish and chips, full English breakfasts, and two pints of Carling. For a significant minority, rest and relaxation mutates into drunken belligerence, and an earnest search for oblivion.