Welcome to Britain. It’s hot — 25C-30C. It’s fringed with sandy beaches. The sea is so warm you can swim to France. For lunch. On a clear day — or an unclear day — you can gaze west across the Atlantic Ocean to America and south to Antarctica, where the weather is as good as it is in Rio. It’s a lovely spot.

This is not, of course, the real Britain: this is Britain (Dubai). After building alpine ski domes in the desert and creating the first underwater hotel, Dubai’s movers and sheikhers have decided to take on the ultimate challenge: reinventing the world.

Some 300 islands are being built in the Gulf in the shape of an atlas of the world, four miles wide and three miles long. I recently became the first Briton to visit Britain and plant the Union Jack in the sand.

I set out at dawn with a crack invasion team: Hamza Mustafa, an anglophile Dubaian, and Sulvam, skipper of the Palm II. Armed with fish and chips, we steered round police boats before mooring in the shadow of the white cliffs of Dover.

“Jump,” shouted Mustafa, 32, as the bow of the Palm II eased into the sand. I leapt from the bow onto the warm soil of a Britain unlike any other. As I unfurled my Union Jack flag and matching picnic rug, I knew instantly that this was the place for me.

The only noise was the wind rustling the freshly planted date palms. There were no traffic jams — no traffic at all. On a ridge I found the ideal spot to build my own Buckingham Palace.

With 299 countries just a few minutes away, I’d never get bored. Best of all, I could look down on Posh and Becks, who have only managed to buy a small villa on the nearby Palm Jumeirah, poor things. I’d sail past their house every day to remind them that I was the true King of Blingland.

As he showed me round the 6.9-acre plot, Mustafa, whose business card proclaims him “General Manager, The World”, explained how this small speck became forever England. “To attract tourists, Dubai needs more than its 40 miles of coastline,” he said. “So Nakheel (the government-owned developer) decided to build the Palm Jumeirah and another two reclaimed Palm islands and now the World.”

God took six days to create the world. Dubai is taking a bit longer. Three hundred contractors have been working 24/7 since last year. But God did not have to worry about helipads for celebrities and a 5m-high granite breakwater to keep out paparazzi.

Mustafa is marketing the islands, which will be completed in 2008, to megalomaniacs and wannabe Bond villains. Although an island for first-time buyers costs £6m, and the most expensive plot, Australia, is £28m, the world of make-believe is proving an easy sell.

More than one third of the islands have already been sold, including, sadly for me, Britain. “It was one of the most sought- after islands,” Mustafa said. “There are more British investors here than any other nationality. It went for £15m.” Who bought it? “I can’t tell you,” Mustafa replied with a grin. “But I will tell you that he is British and you’ve heard of him.” All the papers said it was Rod Stewart. “

That’s enough on Britain, please.”

What’s still up for global grabs? “Spain and Portugal and much of the east coast of the US are available and there are islands in Asia,” gasped Mustafa as we climbed up a sandy cliff a dizzying 5m above sea level. “Welcome to the Highlands,” he laughed.

As we sat and gazed out across the Atlantic, I wondered how he had become General Manager of the World. Had he started running a small country, then moved on to a big country, before being promoted to run a superpower, then a continent, before finally getting the whole world in his sands?

“I’m a Dubaian who studied at boarding school in Somerset. After university I got a job at HSBC in Hong Kong. I’ve spent half my life living in Britain and working for British businesses.” Does that make God an Englishman? “I guess you could say that, but please don’t quote me on that.” (Sorry, Mustafa.)

We ended our tour with a quick swim to Ireland, which has been bought by a Dutchman who is transporting an Irish castle to it stone by stone. “The world is certainly shrinking,” smiled Mustafa, as we stepped back onto the Palm II for the high-speed crossing back to the real world.

On the way, Mustafa conceded he has one ticklish problem. “I have 300 islands to ‘christen’ but I’ve no idea what kind of ceremony to have. How do you ‘open’ an island? A champagne bottle won’t break in the sand and cutting a ribbon is too ‘supermaket’.” There are some questions not even the General Manager of the World can answer.

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