After a lifetime in journalism, it's shattering to feel ashamed of my profession. But I do - mainly because of the mischievously false slant so often imposed on people and events by the national press.

This month's Countryside March is a prime example.

I went on this with my family as a private individual, passionately concerned about what's left of our rural environment.

We were there, in the thick of things, an hour or two back from the prow of the event, where cameras, interviewers, politicians and limelight-seekers in general held sway.

I can assure you that our fellow marchers were nothing like the "red-faced squires", "tweedy landowners", "hunting toffs" and "Barbour and wellies brigade" so sneeringly described by the national media.

We were surrounded as far as the eye could see by the shabby anoraks, vintage sweaters and scuffed boots of smallholders, hill farmers, labourers and others whose ever-increasing toil is reaping ever-diminishing returns.

There were some ancient Barbour-type coats too.

But these were originally designed for, and have long been the workwear of, shepherds and hill farmers, who were astounded when they suddenly took off as fashion togs.

So smart-ass reporters please note: Barbours on a country march are working rural cred, not townie poseur posh.

Later I was surprised to read that a Mori poll had proved the march was monopolised by Tories, so was of little consequence to the government.

It so happens that on this occasion I was, for the first time ever, polled by Mori.

So I know the only political question put was not which party have you supported heretofore, but which would you vote for if there was a general election tomorrow.

Everyone in my vicinity said they had always voted Labour, but felt so betrayed they would vote Tory tomorrow if they could to show their anger and despair.

In any case, only 1,750 were polled from a march of about 284,000, which doesn't prove anything.

I don't live in the country.

But my family farmed for centuries, and my mother still lives in a rural area where the principal landowner - an impoverished lord - long ago opened up miles of woodland and well-kept paths.

The public shows its appreciation by dumping rubbish, uprooting wild plants, mashing paths with mountain bikes, and doing their damndest to wreck or remove gates.

So don't talk to me about "right to roam" until we've learned to respect what we've got already.

Housing is said to be so scarce that 4.4 million new homes are essential by 2016, and Green Belt must largely go hang.

If that's so (and I don't believe it is) "second homes" should be banned forthwith.

In my native West Country there are villages where up to 50 per cent of the cottages have been commandeered by townies as weekend retreats or holiday homes.

The results are devastating.

The houses stand empty, save when their owners arrive to play the rural idyll.

They come loaded with provisions from town, so do little for local trade.

They have no use for local public transport or schools.

Worst of all, the "second homes" trend has priced property well beyond the reach of young locals, who are forced to move away, leaving communities on the point of death.

Why isn't there an outcry on this issue?

Because so many politicians, media pontificators, and other loudmouths have second, or even third, homes in the country (Cotswold cottages and Suffolk farmhouses are, I'm told, top fashion statements).

The countryside is a precious but frighteningly finite asset in our small island, and already we're squandering hundreds of thousands of acres a year on roads, business parks and vast shopping malls like the one taking shape in the lush Gloucestershire fields near Bristol.

We must shout and kick and scream against any further erosion of what used to be our green and pleasant land unless it's absolutely essential.

And hi-jacking Green Belt for housing - in a country where thousands of people have more than one home already - doesn't strike me as that.