I was back in the library this morning for the first time since Easter and I realised that it's been quite some time since I updated my online catalogue of peculiar co-habitants.

I haven't seen The Gangsta Unwrappa for several weeks — either he's been banned or has moved up in the world, perhaps now terrorising a slightly larger library or even a local museum — but the void has been quickly filled by some new and exciting personalities.

So by way of compensation, here's a cut-out-and-keep cast member profile double bill:

No 5: The Coarse Whisperer

The Coarse Whisperer is a rather shy, middle-aged man who shuffles into the library most days, unpacks several impressively weighty textbooks from his rucksack, sits down, and then proceeds to swear loudly under his breath.

It is almost impossible to comprehend much of what he is saying beyond the expletives themselves, but my best guess is that it is some kind of stream-of-consciousness rant.

I don't think he's aware of his own vocalisations because he always seems confused by the strange looks he invites from the other people in the library.

After five or ten minutes the potty-mouthed monologue usually subsides, perhaps as he becomes more engrossed in his books.

No 6: The ASBO Postmistress

No.6 is a relatively recent visitor to the library and to be honest I've only seen her twice, but she's already left quite an impression.

The ASBO Postmistress is a very large, angry-looking woman who sits in the middle of the reference library, pulls out a big carrier bag of hand-addressed envelopes and applies stamps to them with a vigour and a volume far in excess of that required by the task at hand. Never has "unnecessary force" been so ably demonstrated (at least not by a fat lady in a library).

She tears each stamp very carefully from a large sheet, moistens it with a flick of a tongue reminiscent of Jabba The Hutt's, places it with great intention in the top right-hand corner of the envelope, and then secures it in place with a single blow from her not inconsiderable fist.

The resulting noise levels would be more suited to a timber yard than a library but any looks of disdain from those around her are quickly quashed by a fearsome scowl.

This behaviour does beg a couple of questions:

• Why is she doing this in a library not a post office?
• And what exactly is in the envelopes?

I will leave the first question as an optional exercise for the reader, but for second I personally think the answer is either multiple entries for a competition where the prize is a year's supply of something edible (and by 'edible' I include cat food), or it's hate mail addressed to people selected randomly from the phonebook.