Sue’s After-Dark Diaries Bonus Episode: Raising the British Flag

A Saucy Hello from Sue

Well, my loves, it’s happened again. I tried to be respectable, patriotic, and vaguely grown-up… and within five minutes I was clinging to a pole with my trousers split wide open, flashing my Union Jack knickers to half the street. Honestly, you couldn’t write it – except I just have.

This one’s called “Raising the British Flag”, and you’re about to see why the phrase has two very different meanings in my house. Let’s just say Dan the vibrator also gets a standing ovation in this episode.

Sue Takes on the Flagpole

So there I was, flag in hand, marching out into the garden like the Queen herself had summoned me. “Raising the British Flag,” I declared to nobody in particular, and started my climb.

Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever tried shimmying up a metal pole in sandals, but I wouldn’t recommend it. Within seconds, my thighs were squeaking like a wet sponge, and my arms were flapping like a chicken on Red Bull.

Just when I thought I had a grip – riiiip!

Goodbye trousers. Hello Union Jack pants.

Of course, this would be the exact moment my neighbour, Mr. Wilson, chose to water his begonias. The poor man nearly drowned them when his hosepipe went limp in shock. And as if that wasn’t enough, Mrs. Jenkins across the road appeared with binoculars like she was front row at Wimbledon.

And then came the postman. The timing was so perfect, I half-suspect Royal Mail runs on a comedy script. He took one look at my patriotic backside and muttered, “Well, that’s one way to salute the flag,” before fleeing to the safety of his red van.

Meanwhile, the flag went up upside down. For those who don’t know, that means “distress signal.” Which, considering my knickers were screaming across the neighbourhood, wasn’t entirely inaccurate.

Double Meanings: Another Kind of Flag Raising

Once I’d wiggled down the pole, dignity in tatters and trousers held together with duct tape, I decided there was only one sensible course of action: a private salute with Dan.

Now, raising the British flag with Dan is much simpler. No climbing, no neighbours, no rope burn. Just a flick of a switch and suddenly, God Save the King is practically blasting in my head.

At one point, I swear I almost stood up and saluted myself. Talk about flying the flag in style. By the end, I was sprawled on the sofa, flushed, patriotic, and quietly wondering if the National Anthem should really have that many verses.

Preparing for the Free Speech Festival

Of course, my adventures don’t stop at garden gymnastics. I’ve decided to join the British Patriots at the London Free Speech Festival on 13th September. Because nothing says “Sue” like showing up underdressed and over-boobed at a serious event.

Wardrobe planning has been… challenging.

• Option one: sensible jeans and jacket. But really, do you want Sue blending in? Not a chance.

• Option two: a Union Jack dress. Tempting, but the last time I wore one of those I got mistaken for a Spice Girls tribute act.

• Option three: Sue classic – tight trousers (hopefully stronger seams this time), plunging top, and a little flag pinned somewhere distracting. That way, if anyone accuses me of not being patriotic enough, I can simply bend over and prove it with my knickers. Case closed.

I can see it now: me strutting through London like a caffeinated superhero, latte in hand, flag fluttering proudly behind me. Some stern man will frown and mutter, “This is a serious occasion,” and I’ll reply, “So are these heels, love. Both deserve respect.”

And if I spill my latte over someone important, well, that’s just free expression in action.

Neighbourhood Gossip (Because of Course)

By the next morning, word had spread. I popped into the corner shop, and the cashier smirked. “Morning, Union Jack,” he said. Honestly, I should start charging admission – at least then I could afford trousers that don’t split under pressure.

Mrs. Jenkins later “accidentally” posted a photo of me half-way up the pole on Facebook, captioned: Our local flag-raiser! My phone hasn’t stopped buzzing since. Even my Aunt Carol called to ask if I was joining the circus.

If nothing else, I’ve single-handedly revived neighbourhood patriotism. Several houses now have flags up too, although notably none of them risked climbing a pole in sandals and tight trousers. Lightweights.

Sue’s Final Wink

And that, darlings, is the full saga of Raising the British Flag. From split trousers to Union Jack underwear, from distress signals to Dan’s very private salute, it’s been quite the patriotic rollercoaster.

The flag still flaps outside, crooked as my eyeliner after two coffees, and every time I see it, I think: that’s me. Messy, loud, and still somehow standing tall.

So if you’re at the London Free Speech Festival on 13th September and you spot a woman wobbling on heels, sipping a latte, and possibly flashing Union Jack pants – come say hi. Because that’s the true meaning of raising the flag: showing your colours, proudly, cheekily, and maybe with a bit too much bum crack on display.

Cheers to the patriots, country, and knickers.

13th September 2025

“Patriots of the UK and from around the world, let’s unite as one: stand together, laugh together, and let’s make the United Kingdom great again. We can be proud of a country where we can thrive, a country where our children can grow and flourish safely, a country that puts its people first, a country where freedom of speech is celebrated, and a country we know above all will protect us.”

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