By Henry Grant
I took a walk this morning — a rare and noble act, I might add, for a man whose knees sound like poorly tuned zithers — and what should I find upon the first corner but a new sign. And not just any sign, mind you. This one read: “Do Not Linger in a Manner That Suggests Lingering.”
Naturally, I lingered.
Not out of rebellion, but from sheer bewilderment. For some months now, the Kingdom has suffered from an outbreak of signage creep — an affliction wherein every post, gate, and moderately vertical goat is hung with a scroll advising, warning, or politely commanding something. There are signs directing foot traffic around puddles. Signs declaring fountains as “Not Fit for Dramatic Pondering.” Signs reminding citizens that loitering near statues is “emotionally disruptive to the commemorated.”
Where once a man could drift aimlessly through the streets of Inverness, allowing the day to unfold like warm parchment, now he is hemmed in by a barrage of bossy wood.
I do not blame the carpenters. They carve what they are paid to carve. I blame bored departments. I blame subcommittees with surplus budgets. I blame, as always, the Ministry of Mild Interference.
Let me be clear: some signage is necessary. “Bridge ends here” is useful. “Do not poke the goose” is, regrettably, essential. But there must be a line.
Let Eyehasseen remain a place where one might, just occasionally, go nowhere in particular without being told how.