In London in days of yore disposing of sewerage was a serious problem. Some civic-minded citizens built latrines in their backyards. Roger was one of these. It consisted of a pit in the ground, four walls, a roof and door, with a wooden seat built over the hole. It was a luxury. Alas, in time the pit filled up, rotting the floorboards of the latrine. One day when Roger was sat there, contemplating the meaning of life, the floor gave way pitching him into the pit. Before help could arrive poor Roger drowned in a morass of human bodily waste.