Have you ever taken the blame for something that you did not do?

You know, something really serious, and I do mean serious.

I once took the rap for eating the coffee cream from the second layer of a Black Magic box of chocolates before the top layer was finished.

And I am going back a few years to the days when a family box of chocolates really was a big deal.

Not only that, when I lifted the inner lid just to take a peek at the second layer, the coffee cream had already been devoured.

But hey ho, sometimes life’s not fair, is it? The mystery was never solved.

The other day, I was sitting at my desk, staring at a blank screen and waiting for an idea for this week’s column to appear.

It was a bright, clear, Sunday morning, a family of magpies was having a stand-off with a gull on the greenhouse roof and, in the distance, there was even a sprinkling of snow on the top of Snaefell.

It was the sort of day when we should have been lacing up the hiking boots, saddling up the lurcher and heading for the hills.

I used to love the long walks, the network of tracks, the rights of way and, what are called, ’grade four’ roads.

We have walked from one end of the island to the other and I thank whatever deity shares out the good fortune in life for giving me more than my fair share of fresh air and countryside.

During the latter part of my walking career, there were quite definite signs of an increase in surface erosion.

In plain speak, the tracks were wearing away. Even then there were deep ruts that were getting deeper and wider each year.

There is now so much damage to the surface in some places that users are by-passing the worst patches by climbing into the adjacent fields.

Now to be fair, in my case the Parkinson’s problem has made hill walking a memory activity.

I have taken my boots to the charity shop and hung up the lurcher.

But I do know the track network very well and I have friends who still walk the hills and talk about the problem.

I’ve seen many photographs and phone videos. There have been pictures in the local papers that can’t be dismissed as fakes that show pictures of pathways that look more like rivers.

So what can be done to restore this natural asset to its former glory?

I have no idea about the way to rebuild country lanes, but I would have thought that the first step would be a temporary closure, section by section.

I’m sure that our highways engineers have the expertise and the machinery to do the job.

I don’t want to fall into the trap of being a know-all, but if they can tackle a job as big as the prom, well I rest my case.

They could dig out the debris and the mud and build suitable foundations, then renew the drainage and the surface layer.

A well policed running-in period followed by a genuine attempt by all users to respect the needs of wildlife and other interested parties should complete the job.

But was that a pig I saw flying past the window?

Just as in the case of the missing coffee cream, no-one will admit to being responsible for committing the offence.

The track users come from all directions and each of them can present a good case for the ’it wasn’t me guv’nor’ defence.

I am sure that each and all believe what they say is sincere and genuine, but if the damage has not been caused by off road vehicles, motorcycles, and mountain bikes, that only leaves natural erosion and hikers.

But with the best will in the world, this time it really wasn’t me, honest.

Next week, more details about the latest Pullyman book. Just in time for Christmas.