John Hume often famously said that “you can’t eat a flag”. Many years later, his son of the same name explained what his father meant by that.

And it was simply that: “Real politics is about living standards, about social and economic development. It’s not about waving flags at one another.”

Recently though, when I was back in Fermanagh, I saw something that would make most people in England think they’d walked into a tea party in Gibraltar or The Falkland Islands.

I was in a wee rural village where the place was decked out in enough flags and bunting to cover Nigel Farage’s coastal mansion – or maybe, closer to home, enough flags and bunting to cover up the potholes in the roads.

A pointless exercise that made me think: “Good God, is this as far as the Unionist imagination goes, all that it really has to offer in today’s age?”

I was with someone English who was slightly bemused by all the flags. Was it a show of support for England in Euro 24?

But the orange flags with purple stars actually suggested that there were a few Dutch supporters in town as well.

What is the point of flags other than maybe in times of national sporting contests? What are they saying? What are they offering?

What kind of future Northern Ireland is on the menu in the minds of those who put them up?

Back in 2013, the comedian Jake O’Kane went viral with a sketch on ‘The Blame Game’ about the City Hall flag protests and how, “They have taken my fleg, my fleg. They have taken my identity. I don’t know who I am anymore.”

This was at a point when there was a lot of discussion about what a progressive Northern Ireland might look like.

Professor Jennifer Todd of UCD, reflecting on that period in history, in 2021 suggested that at this time there was a genuine opportunity to create a political order that enabled “a moving culture mosaic”.

But nobody had the imagination to do that. Unfortunately, instead – as John Barry of Queens’ University has talked about – Unionism has opted for “the worship of ashes” instead of “the preservation of fire” (2019).

Back in Fermanagh, I could see the flags and bunting proudly flying against the ashes of the past.

My English associate asked me: “Why are they doing this?” My answer is that I don’t know, and I also believe that those who do it may never have asked themselves, “Why am I doing this?”, or “Is this all that my culture is – a depth of flegs and ashes?”

It’s vacuous, and it’s mad, because the whole way from Colebrooke to Carrickaheenan – without naming any villages in between – there’s probably a generation of children with Manchester United or Liverpool flags in their bedrooms.

But that’s not the Britain of flegs n’ ashes, “our wee culture”.

Those English cities after all might have even those gay rainbow flags out, though maybe for some unfortunately too Fermanagh will have those flags out in September.

That seems an awful waste of colour against a stone-grey sky.

But on a funnier note, we will skip the politics of it and we will not ask such awkward questions as to what this kind of thing does for community relations.

Just the same as politicians and public figures commemorating gunmen damages community relations, so as to be clear that this isn’t purely a one-sided criticism.

Maybe we should make it more light-hearted, not taking things so seriously, just as the whole Twelfth of July should become more light-hearted, more of a festival.

Let’s turn this into a Gordon Ramsay or Jamie Oliver kind of article.

What could you do with a flag other than fly it as a means of provocation? There must be plenty of recipes for flags, out there because some people seem to live off them, particularly some Loyalist ‘lawyers’ and shock-jock radio DJs.

We could begin at breakfast and have flag porridge, just to prove absolutely and irreversibly that everything John Hume ever said was wrong.

A flag goes down lovely with the right balance of sugar and salt.

And if you’re from Lisnaskea and prefer the green and red of Emmetts’ flags, try cornflakes instead of porridge.

That will give you a nice balanced start to the day and then you’ll be ready for more flags by lunchtime.

Now, if you’re British, you might prefer a flag sandwich along with flag-flavoured crisps, because crisps and sandwiches are the ultimate British lunch.

(Just avoid prawn if you don’t want to get slagged off by Roy Keane.)

And then we get to dinnertime. I have got to confess here that in good old Irish male tradition, I don’t make the dinner.

Therefore, I’m not well up on what the in-thing is these days when it comes to cuisine, but I bet you don’t have to be Neven Maguire to whack up a gourmet feast out of a good old flag.

You might even get sandwiches out of it the day after, as a lot of pub grub seems to achieve.

But here we are at the dinner table, waiting for our flag feast. And this is where maybe things get a bit spicy.

I’m thinking Geri Halliwell in Union Jack dress at this stage, in her heyday in The Spice Girls – for men of a certain age anyway, or some women of these times, though they may prefer something sportier.

That flag though, with a bit of spice, would probably cross all community tastes. It’s just a pity that what’s on the menu in certain quarters seems to be the equivalent of plain potatoes and butter in a time when most of us have moved on to pasta or something a wee bit more multicultural, more exotic, more colourful even.

But anyway, each to their own, and whatever it is that ignites your taste buds, so be it. There’s just a bit more to life and culture than waving flags at people.

I hope certain towns and villages are decked out in rainbows for Fermanagh Pride in September.

Or maybe they won’t – because after all, we don’t want minorities stuffing their views down our throats now, do we? Food for thought.

And to those who just want to enjoy your traditions and culture in a good day out, with no offence to anybody, I wish you all the best.

You’ve every right to celebrate what’s a family day out for most people.

It’s just a pity that it couldn’t be more cross-community, more reflective of a Britain and Ireland that all sides of the great divide could sign up for.

Paul Breen is @paulbreenauthor on X.