I like to think that somewhere in a forest in the UK is a know chariot driver, recounting the tale of being locked in a farm by a mad bitch, her deranged brother and two and a quarter
hounds from hell itself to a disinterested Chris Waddle over a game of Kerplunk.
I place the blame for this mental image squarely at the feet of @WeBuiltThisBuffetOnSausageRoll