THERE has been an outbreak of vandalism near where I live. In fact, it has been a two-year-long vandalistic campaign.

Not nasty vandalism. Not offensive words scrawled on walls. Not yobbish bricks hoyed through windows in the dead of night, not drunken kicks at falling-down walls.

It's nice vandalism, neat and tidy vandalism. Polite - even apologetic - vandalism. You can hear the vandals saying: "I am sorry, but I really do have to destroy this for the good of society as a whole."

The problem is a riverside footpath which was closed nearly three years ago when the Environment Agency laudably improved flood defences by raising the riverbank at Croft on the Yorkshire side of the Tees.

Having completed the work, an Agency inspector slipped on some mud. As raising the bank by a couple of feet involved dumping millions of tons of mud beside the river, this may not have been unexpected.

In association with the local landowner, the path was closed again. The Agency says that closure is necessary to protect the young vegetation which is "quite integral" to the flood defence, and because it had had several "near miss" slips. Presumably there were fears that every dog-walker in the Darlington district would slip and slap in a spurious compo claim.

The first sign of the closure was a wooden picket fence erected across the footpath. During the first night, the fence was ever so neatly rolled to one side. The Agency turned up in a Land Rover, restored the fence and drove off. As if by magic, the fence rolled back. So the Land Rover returned...

Cat-and-mouse continued until the Agency tired of the entertainment and got serious. Several Land Rovers arrived. A gate in the middle of the walk was clamped shut with an industrial-sized "you'll never shift this" bolt; a 7ft-high "you'll never get over this" palisade was erected, and dirty great signs that shouted "WARNING" were nailed up.

For a week the locals were cowed into submission by this awesome display of force.

Then someone courageously approached the palisade and found that landmines had not been laid. Someone else snuck up and touched the sign which did not explode. To celebrate, they felt-tipped "from the nanny state" beside the "warning" - very naughty, but at least all the words are spelt correctly.

The Agency's defences crumbled. The middle of the palisade was skilfully sawn out and the sharp edges of the wire mesh were turned inwards so that no trespasser lost an eye.

Then, with great determination, the "you'll never shift this" bolt was removed. It came out as clean as a whistle without damaging the latch and was thoughtfully left, in case the Agency had an alternative use for it, by the gateside. Since then, a contemptibly common criminal has stolen it.

At first, the Agency put up a fight. It tried to re-barricade the palisade but now, with its fences down, it has lost interest and says that it is up to the local landowner when he re-opens his path.

So confident are the locals that, in the last fortnight, they have sawed through a fence blocking a subsidiary path - a difficult operation because the fence is at an awkward angle - but again the cut is commendably clean and the displaced wood left in a thoughtful pile.

The question is: do I commend the vigilante vandals for their victory over pathetically petty authority in re-opening the most popular path in the district? Or shall I sue them when I slip on the winter mud or when the floodwater comes rushing over the defences that have been flattened by a thousand dog-walkers?