IT MAY come as something of a shock for those within the saintly cloisters of Murley Moss, but the National Park Authority's policies for the Lake District do not meet with the universal approval, of the general public.

I was sent the following article by a Flookburgh reader who signs himself NPA Mole which paints a picture which I suspect is not far from the private opinions of many locals:-

"The room was tomb-like in its black silence save for the eerie, silvery glow emanating from one of the large number of small monitor screens spread over one huge wall.

The small label under one flickering screen read No 36: CONISTON.

Bent over, peering closely at it were two men, whose flak jackets and black balaclavas made them almost invisible to the naked eye.

"One of our most successful projects chief, don't you think?" drawled Bogie (Belligerent, Overbearing Grouch against Incompatible Enjoyment).

"Without doubt," agreed Paul (Planner Against Unauthorised Leisure).

The flickering picture steadied to portray a scene of total desolation.

The wind could be heard whistling like a banshee under the flaking green painted eaves of the slate grey roofed, boarded up and abandoned stone houses.

Suddenly a National Park Ranger van drove in to view leading six peculiar vehicles closely resembling conservatories on wheels.

The procession halted in what was once the village centre, and three Rangers in combat uniforms checked each vehicle, peering through the thick sheets of glass encasing the people inside.

"I got the idea from Jurassic Park, muttered Paul and the converted electric milk floats are, I think, just right."

"Yes," agreed Bogie.

"No noise, no pollution and above all nice and slow!

"I also like the artificial sheep on the fell side, where did you get them?"

"Well, we couldn't have real ones eroding the fells, so we got a former boatyard to knock them up from the original moulds made for Milton Keynes," explained Paul.

"The cow moulds were too big and we thought them incompatible, but the glass-fibre sheep were acceptable, they are knocking out 1,000 Herdwicks for us this year!"

"Good," Bogie replied.

"At last they are diversifying now that boats are no longer allowed on Windermere."

The men sat quietly watching in the gloom of the secret bunker, deep underground in a hidden location, rumoured to be somewhere in Kendal, as the cavalcade of vehicles moved slowly away heading towards what had once been Hawkshead.

"This Park and Ride scheme is operating well," said Paul.

"Yes," agreed Bogie, but where did you find the space for the third multi-storey car park?"

"We located it where High Newton used to be, spanning the A590.

It was a cheaper option than that by-pass nonsense."

He swivelled his chair and tapped "No.

56, By-law Number Two" on his keyboard.

Immediately, a far newer monitor flickered into life scanning The Glebe and the Bowness foreshore.

"Tranquil Windermere," crooned Bogie.

"Nice to see the end of all those rowdy medallion ski boys, and those gaudy windsurfers won't be missed either! Too tacky.

Too tacky by far.

"But what's this?"

Both men leaned closer to the monitor as a lone char boat floated into view, the solitary occupant busy plying his lines, completely engrossed in his pastime.

"What's that man doing?" queried Bogie, a steely glint flickering over his face.

"Well I er, I think he's fishing, whispered Paul

"FISHING!!!!.

FISHING!!!!!! screeched an hysterical Bogie.

"Pursuing a blood sport in the National Park!!! "

He visibly bristled and then, coldly and clinically a thin smile spread over his face.

"We'll have to inform The Doctor about this, and she can bring it up at the next meeting.

We'll have that off the lake - and quick!"

The lone fisherman, unaware of the flow of vitriol directed at him, drifted off the screen and out of view.

At that moment, a third apparition manifested itself out of the gloom in the bunker

"Those damned rhinos have got out again!" said the newcomer.

"Flattened the wife's prize petunias and to cap it all those new giraffes have eaten my rhododendrons!

"Surely they are incompatible.

Can't we do anything?" he pleaded, mopping his brow with a green handkerchief.

"Short of extending the National Park to include your Dalton neighbourhood, there's nothing to be done.

It's a bit of an oversight of yours Mr.

Chairman to live outside the National Park."

said Paul.

"But we all do!" spluttered the chairman.

"Damn it, we all do!

"Shut up you fools!" interjected a trembling Bogie.

"The matter is already in hand."

Swivelling round he tapped his keyboard.

A new, much larger monitor, hitherto unnoticed in the gloom, flickered into life and a scene opened up before them showing the Irish Sea to the Yorkshire Dales

"I present Project X.

- the big one," exclaimed BOGIE.

"Get the National Park boundary extended to the whole of Cumbria - then will the last working family being relocated out of the county please switch off the light!!"