Bodily functions are nothing to be ashamed of. Everyones body creates sights, sounds and smells that we would rather it didn’t, especially at times that can be more than inconvenient. That is just the way it is, we deal with it.

What separates us from the shit-encrusted animals however, is our ability, and willingness, to mask these functions and pretend like they are not there. From the girlfriend that swore blind that she never farted, to the receptionist at work who clearly bathes in perfume, yet insists is just her ‘natural smell’. Everyone does something to cover up these natural emissions. Well, almost everyone.

There is something to be said for the person who can shun social convention and truly accept their body for what it actually is, and what it does. I almost have a begrudging respect for such people. Almost.

Unless of course they are sat next to you on a two and half hour train journey on one of the hottest days of the year so far.

It is obviously a bad sign if you can smell someone before you can see of hear them. Obviously they would make a rubbish spy, or hunter, and would probably starve in the wild as their stench would prevent them from sneaking up on delicious animals to eat.

The smell wafted its way down the carriage to us, and induced a further wave of nausea to compliment the raft of those experienced earlier that day after a long weekend of near-incessant drinking.

Now, I have a mental picture of what a sufferer of Body Odour looks like. You probably do to, right? There will be a definite view of the age, sex, weight and probably dress sense of the individual concerned.

This mental picture meant that I did not expect the owner of this stench to be a young skinny teenage boy with bright ginger hair and no shirt on. Do not get me wrong, it was a hot day, but wandering around a train, shirtless, with a carrier bag full of cheap lager is not considered usual public transport etiquette. Or maybe it is? This is why I drive everywhere.

As he sat down across the aisle from me an attractive young lady two rows up clearly caught a whiff of the carriages newest occupant and looked up in our general direction. As our eyes met, her expression suggested that she thought it was me who was smelly. But I am not smelly! I will admit that the weekend had taken its toll, and I do not shave the weekend anyway, so I did not look my best, but I still did not look like a smelly person.

The human face is great at conveying an array of feelings and emotions, from love, to fear, to loathing, to intimate ‘knowing’ looks. But there is nothing your face can do that says, “It is not me that smells, it is the skinny ginger kid next to me who is getting off his tits on cheap lager.”

So I mouthed, “It’s not me!” and pointed at the ginger offender. I am not sure if she understood, which is frankly disgraceful. There are a lot of deaf people in this country and for her to be so ignorant of lip reading, one of their main life skills, was frankly appalling. She collected her bags and moved to another carriage.

I continued to read the Sunday papers and cursed the mid-pubescent copper-top for ruining another potential chance for me to have sex on a train. With someone else.

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