Philosophising to the end and dreaming of retirement to Ireland, Mr. Rogers takes us from his early days in India & Manchester through various vicissitudes in America & the Home Counties to his final days working in London's principal public loos. He may well become a folk hero of our time.

The book leaves a sharp, happy flavour of human resourcefulness.
Times Literary Supplement

Some of the things I've found in the toilets you wouldn't believe - suitcases full of clothes, holdalls, briefcases, empty money bags from banks, smashed up collection boxes for the blind and crippled children and the RSPCA. I've found old shoes, old underpants, in the water cisterns. I found two revolvers in a water cistern. There were Italian Berettas that belonged to some crook and I've an idea who they belonged to. All this had to be handed into the police, though they don't want screwdrivers. I've got a finer set of screwdrivers today than any man in London, screwdrivers used for breaking into cars and flats. One screwdriver I have is sixteen inches long. Brand new it must have cost well over two pound.

One night at PIccadilly the stalls and toilets were overflowing with dirty, stinking water, so I rung as usual for the sewer men. I said to the man on the switchboard, 'Mr Rogers speaking. I want the sewer men down to Piccadilly as soon as you can. There's four toilets blocked up. It's coming over the top of the seats and the stalls are blocked up as well.' He said, 'Yes, brother, I'll send them'. I said, 'My name is Mr Rogers. Don't bloody well call me 'brother'. I'm not a communist. I'm not your brother and I'm not your aunt neither!' He said he was very very sorry and put the receiver down. Whenever he picked up the phone again he never mentioned the word 'brother'.