Call me a pinko-lefty-liberal-fag-Commie-cheese eating surrender monkey-Jew-homo-leftist-moonbat-leftard-socialist-freedom hating ballbag but when I see a house that has a Union Jack in the window, I shudder.
I shudder because the chances are they are some kind of daft racist and/or suffering from a crippling small mindedness and/or, worst of all, feel that flying the flag is their patriotic duty at this time of war. And I'm not talking the conflicts in Iraq or Afghanistan, people have been putting up Union Jacks in their windows long before those conflicts.
I'm talking about the imaginary war being fought in Britain, as it comes "under siege" from Johnny Foreigner, darkies and a smattering of gypsies. Oh and don't forget about all those Somalians...
Thankfully, the people flying these Union Jacks fight this imaginary war by...well...putting up flags, moaning to their mates down Wetherspoons at the Curry Club (every Thursday 3-10) and shouting at the TV, as they become one with their Argos sofa bought on the drip with their nan's death money.
I'm not sure why I'm so squeamish about the Union Jack, maybe because it represents a union of nations that I don't really believe in, or because nationalism seems so silly in the modern age as we learn that national identity and basic elements of nationalism are relatively new man-made inventions, with little basis in reality.
I think the main reason it puts me ill at ease is that the Union Jack has been won over by goons like the BNP and the National Front, that my flag has become their flag and as I don't really care much for it anyway, I've handed it over to them and they've sullied it and transformed it into something deeply unsavoury.
Come back next week folks, where I'll be attacking people who fly the Saint George's Cross and bang on about celebrating Saint George's day as daft racists that are clinging to outmoded ideas of nationality and that Saint George was actually a Turk with an Arab mother.