Body odour ban from the library

THERE is a very easy way of beating the curse of body odour. Avoid public transport.

Sadly, it’s an affliction that sufferers are oblivious to, until someone – often a work colleague – finds the courage to confront the unfortunate carrier.

When a visitor to our humble abode complained about the stench pervading every room, I did something about it.

There and then, I went into the back garden and buried our dead cat two feet deeper.

“I had a body odour problem,” growled drinking companion Colin, “but I did something about it. I divorced her.”

We have all known work colleagues with personal hygiene issues.

I once shared a desk with a sub-editor whose smell – a strange cocktail of stale tobacco, Stilton and ripe socks – left the building six months after he took voluntary redundancy.

That dishevelled individual, a man with ring marks under the armpits of his moth-eaten shirt that would, I’m sure, have given his age away had anyone been brave enough to count them, forced Yours Truly into an uncomfortable staff announcement.

Gathering together colleagues in our cramped newsroom, I announced: “I am not pointing the finger at any individual, but there have been complaints.”

My eyes never straying from the stinky sub, I pointed out: “The dynamics of this office mean we must all pay particular attention to personal hygiene.”

After a torturous 10-minute missive, the BO victim sidled over and whispered: “Well said. That old bird on reception has made me heave some mornings. The smell of lavender is overwhelming.”

Memories of that uncomfortable meeting came flooding back as I read our local rag’s bombshell revelation that three people have been banned from our nearest library for being too smelly.

The bizarre bans were uncovered by a Freedom of Information request, but devilish details are missing.

• What are the names of the three unclean bookworms?

I fear one may be a distant cousin, a man so lacking in personal hygiene that when he moved to Swansea, a pair of underpants crawled after him. They made it up the driveway of his new abode three months later.

• What did the trio smell of?

One man’s meat is another’s poison. While the stench of fish or stale sweat is a worthy reason for red-carding library users, it would be unfair to single someone out for reeking of Old Spice, Brut or my 1970s aftershave of choice, Pagan Man: a scent so pungent it gave one girlfriend nose bleeds.

A lot of people think my deodorant smells disgusting and makes them feel physically sick.

The joke’s on them. I don’t use deodorant.

• How did the librarians broach the subject?

“I’m looking for a book by Russian author Alexsandr Solzhenitsyn...”

“You smell. You’re banned.”

• And did the individuals have a right of appeal?

Is there an official smell test, a smellometer perhaps, to discover the limits one can, er, hum in a public building?

The article reveals that two more individuals have been barred from the building for indecent exposure and another three for aggressive behaviour.

Across the rest of the county’s community libraries, seven readers are currently serving bans.

As a yobs’ badge of honour, having the book thrown at you by your local library fails to carry the gravitas of a Villa Park life ban.

But there may come a time when these ne’er-do-wells desperately need to borrow a book, probably a book on combating BO, and rue the day they were booted out of their local library.

They’ll face the prospect of having to purchase a volume, something I did over Christmas.

“Would you like a receipt, Sir?” asked the shopkeeper.

“No,” I answered, somewhat puzzled. “I’m pretty sure it will work.”

I wanted something by Shakespeare.

“Which one?” asked the shop owner. William, obviously. A local councillor told the newspaper: “The library is a very busy public building and well over 3,000 people have visited in the last 12 months.

“The vast majority of our visitors show great respect for our wonderful building, staff and other visitors.

“It is, therefore, extremely rare that we have to take the step of excluding someone from the building.

“It is something we do only as a last resort, usually when someone is contravening library bylaws, and they are behaving in a way that has become intolerable, or even dangerous, for other visitors or staff.”

I have worked part-time at a library, a stint that taught me an important lesson: bosses hate it when you rearrange books in size order.

I also learned that there’s nowt as queer as the general public.

One gent mumbled that he wanted a book on pessimism.

“Over there, mate,” I pointed. “There’s a shelf half full of them.”

“To me, it looks half empty,” he replied.