IT’S a sad day when a cowboy hangs up their hat, a knight lays down their sword, and a man, or woman, wakes up one day to find they have no more use for the high-vis they’ve worn for years.

Just as nature has a habit of warning us what fungi are poisonous by painting them in bright, garish shades, high-vis has traditionally served a similar purpose.

When we spot an individual in high-vis on a building site, tarmacking a drive, or collecting the bins, we know to give them a wide berth because they have a job to do and are busy doing it.

Likewise, when a person from the high-vis world enters a place of recreation or eatery, such as a pub or chippy, it is a foolish soul who attempts to engage them in social intercourse.

They are busy and industrious creatures who have no time to waste on frivolity or social media updates. They will eat their chips with a scowl, drink their pints in silence, and then it’s back to work.

So if you spot a person in high-vis outside their work environment, keep a respectful distance and do not, under any circumstances, make eye contact. Particularly if the individual in question is wearing high-vis trousers.

However, in the age of anxiety, Gen Z, and other long-term health conditions, someone has to keep the lights on and the world turning.

And thus it is always a sad day when someone chooses to hang up their high-vis and become a civilian again.

Take this abandoned vest spotted the other day on The Ross Road.

Hanging from the bushes like some sort of strange fruit, it struck a sorrowful chord with passers by.

Men reportedly felt something inside them die, and women covered their children’s eyes or told them to look away,

It would appear that even the Heavens choose to mark the momentous occasion with a shaft of pure light beaming down as if in celebration of all things high-vis!