Rogered Rog and the nasty incident

Roger, Roger, they all want to know who that rogered Roger is. Funnily enough I have had plenty of suggestions as to the identity of our “perfect suit”, many of which – if published – would land me in more hot water than a cooked lobster. Ouch.
However, as my middle name has always been “discretion”, I’m afraid you will just have to keep on guessing, unless, of course, you want to take me out for a nice lunch. You will find my lips loosen up pretty quickly after a few bottles of fine wine…and not Lambrini as the one and only Jeremy Lee once claimed.
Luckily for all of you who can’t afford an afternoon with little ol’ Busty, I have got a further clue in the form of another tale of rogered Rog, and it goes something like this:
Back in the day, when our man was still married, with a beautiful wife, a beautiful house and beautiful kids in tow, he found himself having to work on his wedding anniversary.
Of course, his beautiful wife was not too chuffed about this, as, after all, it was their – or more likely as she is one of the sisterhood – her very special day. But, ever the schmoozer, good ol’ Rog calmed the waters by promising her a very special dinner date in one of the finest establishments in upmarket Surrey.
Everything was arranged, but before he could slope off early for a romantic night with the missus, Roger had a crucial lunch appointment with a big spending client. Anyway, the lunch went swimmingly and Rog ensured he didn’t drink too much so that the wife would not be upset. He jumped in a cab to Waterloo but then disaster struck as he suddenly found his lunch had repeated on him in the worst possible way and filled his trousers.
He really was in the shit in more ways than one. However, never a man to panic in such situations, Rog asked the taxi driver to pull up outside M&S where he quickly bought a new suit, new Y-fronts, and a new shirt. “To Waterloo, my man, with haste,” he cried.
He caught the train. So far, so good. He found the toilet. So far, so good, still. He stripped down, chucked his soiled suit out of the window (just to prove it was a while ago), gave himself a good wash down and leant down to pick up the M&S bag with all his new clobber in, then disaster struck.
Sadly Rog had picked up the wrong bag at the till and was left holding a brand new M&S dress. Shit and more shit. But, with no other choice, he had to slip it on and hide in the toilet until the train arrived at his destination.
When his wife met him outside, suffice to say she was none too pleased. Not only was he wearing a dress, but his outfit was even better than her’s. I’m not too sure, but I don’t think Roger got a decent rogering that night…

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