THE Lion Rampant is often thought of as second flag of Scotland, after the Saltire, but don’t for a minute go thinking its yours. It’s no’. The law, and the royal family, are quite clear about that.

As the royal family’s website declares, it is “the Queen’s official banner in Scotland”. You can wave a wee one about to show fealty, but run one up a flagpole and you risk a scolding from the Court of the Lord Lyon. Aye, him again.

As some of you might know, the beast under advisement is “a lion rampant Gules armed and langued Azure within a double tressure flory counter-flory of the second”.

That’s how it’s described in the Gormenghastian world of heraldry. In the Queen’s English, it’s a red lion, with blue tongue and claws, standing within a red double-border on a yellow or gold background decorated with opposing floral symbols.

As for the “Rampant” of the common appellation, on the face of it, this makes the beast sound a bit mental or, at least, gallus: “Ah’m gonnae smash up a shop!” In reality, with its tongue sticking oot and a deranged eye, it looks somewhat distressed, as if it had just swallowed some vindaloo. Its front paws are stretched forward as it shouts: “Geez a lager – quick!”

“Rampant” just means it’s upright, standing on its hind legs. The flag’s Sunday name, or one of the shorter ones, is the Royal Banner of Scotland and, unlike the Saltire, by tradition it can only be used by the Monarch for, right enough, it first appeared on their paraphernalia rather than on the tattooed arms of early medieval punters.

The earliest recorded use was on the reverse side of the Great Seal used by Alexander the Second (ruled 1214-49), where the king is depicted on horseback, with an upright lion symbol on his saddle and shield.

However, it’s thought, for reasons I never ascertained during several extensive minutes of research, to have first been used during the reign of Malcolm III (1058–1093). Was it on his beer mats? His pants? Who knows?

It’s also thought to have featured on Robert the Bruce’s surcoat (the loose robe worn over armour) when he blootered yon English upstarts at Bannockburn in 1314.

After the Union of the Crowns in 1603, the Royal Banner was incorporated into the Royal Standard of the United Kingdom, appearing in both the first and fourth quarters when used in Scotland, but only in the second elsewhere (when England’s three lions take the two spots; Ireland’s harp, bizarrely enough, is still in there while the Welsh, as usual, get nothing).

Some nutcase said earlier that the Lion Rampant can only be flown by the monarch but, by the byzantine traditions of heraldry, that isn’t strictly speaking true.

Several “Great Officers of State”, official representatives of the monarchy in Scotland, are permitted to hoist it aloft. Doubtless, like me, you are thinking: ‘Well, who are they ba’heids?’

Turns out one is the First Minister, whoever he is, but also the Lord Lieutenants in their various fiefdoms, the Lord High Commissioner to the General Assembly of the Etc, the Lord Lyon King of Arms – yep, the Lyon King – and any other lieutenant specially appointed by the monarch.

Are you in there? Naw, didn’t think so. The Lyon King is quite explicit about these restrictions: “This is not a national flag and its use by citizens and corporate bodies is entirely wrong.” To which the nation replies: “Shut up, you.”

Restrictions were even tighter before 1934 when George V issued a royal warrant allowing the peasantry to wave hand-held flags for “decorative ebullition” – ebullition, aye – during Silver Jubilee celebrations the following year. That warrant still holds for big state occasions, such as the opening of the Scottish Parliament, and somewhat more anarchically at sporting events such as the footer and rugger, though George Five never specified this at the time, spectators at sport back then being less demonstrative.

It says here that Glasgow Rangers – ha-ha, the irony – once got into trouble for non-authorised use of the banner, as did Dundee United (who have a black Lion Rampant on their shirt badge). Apparently, the SNP were also admonished once. Ha-ha, the irony.

In 1978, a linen merchant in yonder St Albans was fined £100 daily – until he desisted – from bunging the banner on decorative bedspreads.

How common! But, as the banner continues to feature on a variety of tourism industry tat, application of the law – actually an Act of the Scottish Parliament dated 1672 – seems somewhat arbitrary. But, again, I think the gist is you’re usually safe on objects and wee hand-held efforts. Fly one aloft and you might get your collar felt.

Even Scottish Field, in 2016, listed this under “10 ridiculous Scottish laws that you won’t believe”.

As for the monarch, contrary to popular belief, the Lion Rampant is only flown above the royal residences at Holyrood and Balmoral when she ISN’T in. Saves having to try the doorbell, I suppose. When she is at home, it’s the Royal Standard of the United Kingdom that’s flown.

Back down the arcane rabbit hole of heraldry, it ought to go without saying – though it doesn’t – that the lion should “respect” (face) the flagpole, otherwise it would look like it was doing a runner. In the old days, it would have faced thus – left, so to say – when on a shield worn on the left arm.

You might wonder too: why a lion? Well, they were all the rage back in the day when monarchs were more militantly military and wanted to show they were right fierce, ken?

Maybe, today, we should devise a People’s Standard of Scotland, something a bit less aggressive , maybe with a wee budgie on it. Or a deer (though everyone’s wanting them shot nowadays). Or an otter. A grey seal? No eagles: they’re well dodgy. What d’you think? Let’s run it up the flagpole and see who salutes.