I am predisposed to a certain doggedness; a refusal to be beaten by things that more balanced people would shrug and walk away from.

I am aware too that this is not necessarily a good thing. But, in the words of the popular song I am what I am.

There are many things in modern life that provoke rage and about which one can individually do little: the anonymous and brain-dead yobs who daub profanities on the toddlers' slide on the playground at The Rye; the dog owners who, like me, are using The Rye as a replacement venue to exercise our dogs while the footpaths remain inaccessible but who, unlike me, decline to pick up their animals' mess on an area of communal recreation; television schedulers who no longer believe that we need watersheds of any kind and give us a steady diet of early evening adult themes and ever increasing general smut. I am sure you can supply your own additions to the list.

We can complain and fume, and indeed should do so, but any change will only be achieved by a sufficient number of people doing so to convince the decision makers to listen or go out of business.

The apparent hopelessness of the task should not deter each and every one of us from standing up to be counted.

I am sure you will know the frustration experienced when you suddenly realise that the programme you want to record is about to start and you pick up a pack of new videotapes.

You scrabble away at the outer cellophane wrapper; it yields. But each individual tape is wrapped in another layer that will take a millennium to biodegrade.

This one is made of sterner stuff. It is designed to resist human fingernails for just long enough to ensure that you miss the beginning of the programme.

But this anguish is as nothing compared with that provoked by the roll of sandwich bags I wrestled with this week.

I have written to the manufacturer as follows: "I am enclosing a sample of what you style as your 'unique' sandwich bags, which I purchased recently instead of my usual store's own brand. I can attest to the uniqueness of your product. It lies in the fact that, to the best of my recollection, it is the only household item that I have ever purchased to induce in me such a level of impotent rage that I genuinely thought I might have a heart attack!

"Over several days, the bags whose sides I did manage to separate to accommodate my children's sandwiches took several minutes out of my already all too short life. I tried washing my hands and drying them to get a better grip. I tried moistening them. I tried steaming the bags. It was when I had ripped one of the resolutely one dimensional bags with my torn fingernails and then failed after a whole ten maddening minutes to gain entrance to the next bag, that I finally conceded defeat.

"As I have spent at least an hour of my life grappling with your 'unique' sandwich bags, I feel the least you can do is experience the same frustration. I hope you will take this opportunity to sample your own product, which I enclose, and attempt to open it without your blood pressure being adversely affected.

"Please don't feel the need to send it back."