By Theophilus Gant, Editorialist Emeritus
There are few things more suspicious than the quiet hum of peace.
Oh yes, I know what the scrolls say — “Peace is the fruit of wisdom,” and “Make not war where one may make bread,” and other such well-meaning rhubarberies. But I’ve lived through enough peacetimes to know the truth: they’re breeding grounds for bureaucratic fidgeting, legislative overreach, and sudden, deeply unnecessary changes to street signage.
Take the recent proclamation from the Ministry of Paving and Nomenclature: starting next month, all roads in Inverness formerly named after “battlefield heroes” shall be re-designated after “locally significant vegetables.” Thus, proud Bramble Pike becomes Parsnip Lane. Pike’s End becomes Turnip Cross. There’s a beetroot boulevard in planning. I refuse to comment on the “Shallot Round.”
No one would dare do this during war. You try renaming a street mid-siege and you’ll find yourself repelled with more than harsh language.
And yet here we are, too comfortable by half. The Constabulary is ticketing citizens for aggressive dawdling. A Ministry sub-subcommittee has launched an inquiry into “overly audible snoring during public lectures.” I myself have been fined for “tone.”
So I say, with all the gravity afforded an aging man in a moth-bitten cloak: peace is fine, but give it limits. Give it structure. Give it someone with a broom to chase it back into balance.
Or failing that, give me back Bramble Pike.