My actor friend Sean Wightman (he was “Delivery Boy” in Van der Valk) has a second job, as all actors must. In his spare time – of which, currently, there is plenty, the West End not being what it should – he both runs a successful internet radio station and acts as a private IT troubleshooter to technologically bewildered individuals.

This is how I know him: he had to come all the way over to Crouch End to tell me that, by and large, no, you shouldn’t pick a laptop up by its screen, or put it upside-down in a handbag with an overripe banana. And that, yes, occasionally backing it up would have been a good idea, what with it being completely buggered now, and all. Anyway, as he painstakingly retrieved corrupted files from a Mac impregnated with sandy lipgloss, he mentioned how a great deal of his work comes from Freecycle. Or, more specifically, clients begging him to help them to unsubscribe to the miraculously persistent services of Freecycle.

Do you know Freecycle? Oh, it’s a phenomenon. It’s a blast. It’s a sure-fire way of jamming up your inbox with tat, until it looks like a cyber jumble sale. In a nutshell, Freecycle is a “thing” whereby you join the group in your local area, and then receive an e-mail every time someone has something that they wish to give away – or receive – for free. In this way, theoretically, nothing is wasted: everything is “freecycled”.

This can often, I must admit, lead to feelings that, in the words of Jane Austen, you have been “delighted enough”: usually around the time the 178th e-mail of the morning offering a “slightly worn” Britax child’s car-seat chimes into the inbox. Once you’re “in” Freecycle, you don’t really have the option not to be in it any more. It’s notoriously hard to unsubscribe to it – “It’s the Hotel California of spam,” as Sean put it.

But then, really, who would want to unsubscribe? For, aside from being an ecologically sound idea (why buy a whole new sofa when someone round the corner has an old one you can have, and for free?), it is also a peerless amusement. People don’t just offer things, or ask for things. They explain why they are offering or asking for the item, too. It’s very interesting. It’s a bit like a quantum parish magazine. Or that One Thousand Tiny Plays About Britain thing in the Guardian magazine, but not s**t.

For instance, I know that, this week, poor Quentin622 has been mugged (“I had my bike stolen – anyone got an adult one they don’t want?”), carlie_mead has not made a financially advantageous match (“I need as much glassware for our wedding as possible – on a tight budget!”) and that the home of Tony and Jacky is probably not a wholly serene place, all things considered (“We’ve made the decision to both quit smoking! Therefore, we offer a collection of antique and modern ashtrays, ‘quit smoking’ books, electric smokers’ air purifier and a rack of new pipes – not used”).

Of course, as you can see, the addictive element of Freecycle – the nicotine in its spare rack of pipes – comes with the unedited insights into the minds of your neighbouring humanity. How often do we really get to “hear the voices of the people”? See what’s going on? Make harsh, snap judgments on just how demented that might be?

It is a hugely subjective matter, for instance, at which point the lines representing “not wasting the Earth’s resources” and “not wasting everyone else’s time” finally intersect. There’s every possibility that it might be here, for instance, with Jen in Stroud Green, offering a used Rimmel Moisture Rich Lipstick, in Diva Red. “Personal experience suggests that it might not suit you if you have red hair. I know this all sounds a bit weird,” she adds, wryly – while still e-mailing 17,000 people to ask if they want to get something that might have coldsore germs, or MRSA, or ants all over it.

In Hammersmith, meanwhile, a “large, opened bag of wholemeal pasta” was offered up to the community at large – on the one hand, an admirable return to war-time thrift: but on the other, an open bag of pasta in Hammersmith.

At the opposite end of the scale, there are people ostensibly “offering” things that “need a little TLC” when, in fact, they’re just too lazy to go to the dump with it. TVs with “currently no picture”, mattresses “old but serviceable!”, printers “you might know how to fix!”

To be honest, I particularly notice them only as a reflection of my own pathetic deviousness, having posted an invitation to collect “over two tons of unbagged concrete rubble from N8 – could suit building project!!!!” last June, because I didn’t fancy humping all my shattered hardcore into a skip.

No one answered that one ad, surprisingly. They came and took my chicken-wire, though, and the slate worktops, and the radiators. In return, I’ve had a load of Victorian bricks, a tray of sweetpeas, and an answering machine, which didn’t work, and I had to take down the dump, like a mug.

Ultimately, however, I think what I love best about Freecycle is that it shows up the whole irony of the capitalist, consumerist construct. After all, trillions of dollars are spent on trying to predict and cater for the consumer’s every whim, however random. If you’re ready to spend money, a big multi-national would like to be there to help you. It really would.

But who would ever have guessed there was a need for “taxidermy, fur and skulls – for a friend,” someone willing to come and collect “if you shoot more rabbits than you can use”, or, my all-time favourite: “Wanted: yellow sou’wester, and a gong.”

Well, I think I have a write advantage

Of course, Freecycle is not without its freeloaders. While the majority of people would consider the facility a laudable step towards total sustainability there has been a small faction who have seen it as, well, somewhere to get free stuff to flog on eBay. Various methods have been introduced to stop this abuse. One Freecycler posted an impassioned, 1,400-word, e-mail, explaining how it was the “giving” aspect of Freecycle that is the most important. This included the quite moving point that “giving neighbours an excuse to express generosity is a powerful teacher”. This also had the added bonus of making people exchanging old sofas in Haringey sound like some manner of exhilarating, Himalayan yogic quest.

However, the most popular method involves people being asked to “explain why you want this item”. This has led to Freecycle taking on the air of one of those competitions where you have to explain why Vitalite margarine is the best, in 200 words or less. In other words, anyone who writes for a living might well expect to clean up, hem hem.

Sealed with a kiss

For sale: one Rimmel Moisture Rich lipstick, in Diva Red. While some might consider this to be in a “used” condition – and possibly infected with clostridium difficile, or snakes – I prefer to think of it as a lipstick that has been kissed. How romantic! Make-up with a semi-sexual history! Price: £9.99. For sale: one bag of pasta, wholemeal. I have applied a “concierge service” to this item, and preopened it for your convenience – a charge which I must, alas, pass on to the end user: £17.85.

For sale: ashtrays, lighters, pipe-rack (never used.) Would suit someone intending to really pick up their smoking rate, students on an essay deadline, or someone whose partner has recently started acting mysteriously: £499.

caitlin.moran@thetimes.co.uk

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