MY ADVICE to you this week is: do not be vexed by vexillology. Hope that helps.

It may help, in particular, if you’re fogged by flags or bewildered by standards, as the v-word is the study of same, which important news I could not have brought you yesterday (because I hadn’t yet come across it yet).

Why would one don one’s trenchcoat and trilby to conduct an online investigation into flags? Well, I’m on Skye and amazed at the number of Saltires everywhere. You’d almost think this was part of a normal country.

It’s heartening somehow, even for an introverted patriot like this writer who is, in general, averse to ostentatious display. But, hey, that’s the introvert’s conceit: while I’d never fly a flag myself I like when others do. At least in moderation.

Demonstrations where there are more Saltires than marchers sometimes give me the willies. Anything that makes the electorate appear like football “ultras” is probably best avoided.

But a solitary Saltire flying against a backdrop of magnificent mountains and sinuous seas certainly floats my boat. It’s a quiet statement – at least I hope it is. Rightly or wrongly, and probably a bit of both, the sight of the Union flag in my country strikes me as provocative.

It’s different strokes for different folks, of course. A flag is signalling something. They’re common in places like the United States and Norway, perhaps because both are relatively young as independent countries. But, there, it never struck me as controversial, something I’ve only had to consider in Scotland.

You will recall, perhaps, the Scottish taxi driver who refused to have a Saltire on his cab, or the individual who wrote in saying the sight of his own flag frightened him. Only in Scotland, you might think. And you’d probably be correct.

But I’ve enjoyed the sight of so many Saltires in Skye. I think it’s a nice flag, more civic than military, and not much associated with colonial oppression (which we Scots largely committed under the Union flag).

I dare say not all the flags on Skye are making a political statement, but the vast majority are. They appeared during the referendum campaign and have stayed up, sometimes accompanied by the Y-word.

On the Y-front, Skye mounted a strong Yes campaign, and there’s clearly still passion for the cause here, just as there is in Norway 110 years after their independence referendum.

Mind you, a friend of mine’s dad flew a Norwegian flag in Scotland and some enraged Norskies stormed round the house telling him to take it down, because it was after midnight or something and not the done thing. But that’s Norwegians for you. Rules are rules, and compliments, while always expected, are never appreciated.

So it’s probably best to fly your own, rather than anyone else’s, flag. “Displaced nationalism” used to be an expression used, in the last century, to signify a love of Russia but today often signals a fetish for Scandinavia.

In Scotland, some folk aren’t sure which flag is theirs. Some islands have made up Nordic-style flags but aren’t really fooling anyone who can deconstruct a tourist brochure. Then there’s the Union flag. While it now stirs often negative emotions, it was arguably a noble attempt to unite different countries under one banner, even if that hasn’t worked out in practice.

And so to the Scottish Saltire. I specify Scottish, as “saltire” is a generic term for such a standard. The Russian Navy, Jamaica, Alabama and the European standard hazard symbol all have saltires too.

Many flags will have mythology behind them rather than merely picking colours because they look nice or go with the King’s hair. Our patron saint, Big Andy, was crucified on a saltire-shaped cross.

And in the 9th century, clouds in the skies above East Lothian formed a saltire shape, providing an auspicious omen before a battle in which the Scots and Picts combined to defeat the Angles. This was in the so-called Age of Blooters when battles were common across the British Isles.

Given Scotland’s skies, you’d think a white cross on a grey background might have been the result. Especially as, constitutionally, we have long been a grey area.

But, hey, let’s not get into a flap about this. Flags shouldn’t be a big deal but, in Scotia Minor, if you’ve a pair of knickers about your person you’ll often find them twisting. Well, let’s run them up the flagpole instead – and see who salutes.