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This will not be understood by any non-civilised peoples. i.e anyone West of Haverigg, East of Sedbergh, North of Longtown and South of Milnthorpe. i.e. you. Lovingly referred to as "The Way Of The Sheep", the Cumbrian Constitution was created to rubber stamp Cumbria's complete divorce from reality.
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It is hereby decreed that Cumbria will remain a tourist attraction for people with wellies, 4x4's and caravans for ever and ever amen.
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Scafell Pike is to be referred to as Mount Doom to cash in on the Lord Of The Rings tourist effect. Whitehaven should now be called the Mines of Moria, Grizedale Forrest, Fangorn and Barrow is hereby named Mordor. The Lord Lieutenant of Cumbria "Lord Sauron". Bare with me lads, this will make a
All other place names must not be pronounced as spelled e.g. Distington pronounced Disington (note the arbitrary silent T); Cleator Moor pronounced Cleater Moo-er; Torpenhow pronounced Tre-pen-a(note the complete lack of common syllable useage) and Ambleside as that god awful bottleneck where the shops only sell coats suitable for climbing Everest.
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All Tourists who spend over £10 will always receive a smile. Unless they are from outside Cumbria(*), in which case they will receive sullen glances and short shrift.
(*)Infact, unless written evidence of birth of at least 3 preceding generations within Cumbria is produced True Cumbrians will consider you to be from the outside
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All tourists who spend less than a tenner, must be directed to "The Cave of Happiness" AKA "The Mines of Moria".(see above)
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All disputes will be settled at "The Court of Arbitration", otherwise known as the "Farmer's Committee". Where the dispute is of minor significance, the problem shall be passed first to "The Young Farmer's Association" who shall settle said dispute outside with the use of their fists and other peoples teeth. These rulings will be promptly ignored by the dreaded National Park and its legendary Rangers
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Sheep are now considered holy and anyone violating their special rights and privliges will be attacked by a mob of outraged hobbits, who coincidently live in the hills o'er yonder due to the increase in price of hobbit holes due to the dreaded Orc-comers with their insatiable appetite for holiday hobbit holes.
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Trophy Bitter and piss warm beer will forever be the staple enjoyment of all hoary old Cumbrians for time immemorial.