Flagged

On my way home from Armagh, where I'd been to give a reading with five other Salmon poets.(see previous blip).

Up North, many houses (and lampposts, shops etc.) are adorned with territorial markers, either the Union Jack or our own Tricolour. More of the former, I believe, though I am by no means sure. Being from the south, and only an occasional visitor, these flags always give me a slight frisson. Whatever the nationality, they always deliver an exotic tingle of threat. Personally, I detest the trappings of patriotism; as Mailer said of post 9/11 America, one doesn't need to fly a flag to be a patriot. But I am also slightly fascinated. And as a photographer, the flags furnish those spots and dabs of pattern one is always on the lookout for. I would have taken more shots, probably better ones, if I had had more time, but I would have thought twice before driving into that estate with my Dublin reg and a serious-looking camera.