Almost every newspaper and magazine had one - the name was always withheld but the message came through loud and clear on the page dedicated to Letters to the Editor.

The dreaded Disgusted of Bognor was back, firing on all cylinders about some real, or more likely imagined, wrongdoing, slight, or shortcoming often on the part of a public servant.

The Town Hall machinery would rev itself up for yet one more exchange of views with Mr/Mrs/Miss (there was no Ms in those days) carried on through the public pages of whichever unfortunate rag had the misfortune to waken the sleeping dragon.

It must have been a bit like shadow boxing because they never knew who their opponent was but in the interests of the town's honour some sort of response, however inane, was felt to be needed.

Disgusted of Wherever was a permanent fixture in papers throughout the land and one or two of the locals had been heard to mutter down the local that he or she certainly had a good point to make.

Well, I have news for you. I am Confused of Brighton and while I may not figure in the conversations down at the Dog and Duck, I have a good deal of support among a circle of residents who seem just as confused as I am.

This week, I was nearly run down by a large, brightly-painted vehicle as it manoeuvred close to my house. On the side it proclaimed it was a Green Machine gobbling up newspapers and glass.

There was a team of men darting from house to house delivering, not the hoped-for Christmas card or letter, but a brightly-coloured leaflet telling us from now on the council would like us to recycle our bottles just as we had recycled our newspapers in the black box provided.

Glass would be collected on alternative weeks to our paper, carefully explained in words of one syllable.

We were requested very politely to place it where it could be seen. Since my dustbin is in a position where you would have to be totally visually deprived to miss it and it still gets left about one week in three, my confidence was not enhanced.

But what worries me even more is the logistics of the whole thing. Until now, my black box is still in its virgin state because I have a friend who uses my newspapers and takes them away.

Her sterling work is about to cease for the winter, so I shall become a contributor to the black box culture. But with all my papers duly saved daily, there will be no room for any bottles.

Don't get me wrong. I am no secret alcoholic with empties around me like Christmas tree baubles but I cannot lift the black box when it has a couple of days' papers in it, especially after the Sunday specials, so how I am going to manage it when I add bottles I have no idea.

I can see a violent outbreak of hernias if we are required to go in for weight training every week. Even once a fortnight is bad enough.

Among households with a penchant for parties, I can see bottles rolling about all over the garden path as we try to balance them against the Times Educational Supplement, not to mention the slippery slopes of the News of the World.

I am sure I will be told to stow my papers in the garage until the right week and then transfer them to the box. The next week, do it in reverse will be the response. But that negates the whole idea of making it easy to persuade people to recycle.

Half of us will have our glass where our newspapers should be and if you visit my house, you will most likely see my dustbin as well. Is it any wonder I'm Confused of Brighton?