Sometime in the 18th Century, Bullock, a portly butcher who was built like a cart, invited the Earl of Barrymore to a foot race. The challenge was rare, but the Earl, in the pink of his health, thought it too meaty to pass up. But in good conscience and bad pride, he let the arthritic butcher choose the place and time, and also gave him a 35-metre head start. On the appointed day, the race was under way, in a lane just wide enough for bullock and his belly. The Earl, unable to squeeze past, conceded defeat and was squeezed out of a fat payout. He caught up, but wished he’d caught on instead.