A long time ago, when I was an NHS CEO, a member of staff asked if we could fly the England flag during a football tournament.
I liked the idea, and even suggested we make it a tradition whenever England reached the finals over a major tournament we would fly the cross of St George. We could fly the Union Flag for the Olympics.
We had a proper flagpole and a set of flags, so I told them to fetch the right one and hoist it with a cleat hitch or similar knot.
They looked blank.
I turned out that by “flag,” they meant ripping some tat out of The Sun and plastering it all over patient-facing areas.
I explained this would be an infection control risk, and also look really shit. I told them to come back when they’d learned how to tie a cleat hitch.
They never did.
Turns out, patriotism is best done with taste—not stuck to every street corner.
We are the land of Hope and Glory, not the land of scruffy Tories