A goodly, portly man: Daniel Lambert

Everybody has one too many mince pies over Christmas (or at least, they should), but when you end up weighing 52 stone, it's clear things have got more than a little out of hand.
Daniel Lambert is the famous fat man of the Georgian period. Born in Leicester in 1770, Lambert's father ran the a house of correction in an extremely rough district, and after an apprenticeship elsewhere, Daniel took over his father's job aged nineteen. His teenage years had been interesting and he was a larger than life character in the parish already, having fought a bear, by accident, when it tried to kill his friend's dog, and narrowly escaping being crushed by a collapsing house whilst watching it burn. He was a great breeder of sporting dogs, and his animals were much in demand locally. Almost as soon as he took over his father's job, as a glorified warder, his weight began to increase. By 1793, only four years later, he weighed 32 stone, and paid his first visit to London, walking from Woolwich to the City with no apparent difficulty.
In 1805, Daniel was relieved of his job in Leicester in an apparent re-ordering of the system. He was granted a pension (not bad at 35), but it wasn't enough to live on. He had little choice but to exhibit himself as a freak, even though he disliked the idea. People from London who had heard of his impressive size and bulk had begun to call at the door under false pretences. One man, having heard of Lambert's love of horse-racing, called on the pretext of discussing the breeding line of a particular horse. Daniel realised he was being set up, and responded pertly that the mare 'was got by Impertinence out of Curiosity' and slammed the door.
He admitted that he must either lose weight, become a prisoner in his own home, or go out and look for work and be stared at. When presented with these options, being paid just for being fat seems something of a lesser evil. He arrived in London and took up lodgings in Piccadilly, where he was visited by a huge range of people, and advertised his sporting dogs for auction at Tattersall's. They made an enormous sum, in no small part due to Daniel's fame, and the records show he sold Peg, Punch, Brush, Bob, Bounce, Bell, Charlotte and Lucy who were all small working setters and pointers, for nigh on two hundred guineas (poor Lucy was the runt on just twelve). This amounted to almost five years of Daniel's pension.
Count Borulawski, the famous dwarf, who had retired to Durham, journeyed to visit Daniel and spent no small amount of time with him. Borulawski had made his own fortune through exhibiting himself, and apparently the two talked extensively about how Daniel should conduct his career as showman. The Count was a real character: the first time they met, Daniel enquired after the health of his wife, only to be told solemnly that she was dead. When Daniel apologized, the Count replied, 'I am not very sorry, for when I affront her, she put me on the mantle-shelf for punishment'.
People who came to view Lambert and who were rude or insulting were ignored, and if persisting, told to leave. He was apparently an able conversationist and very polite. His weight was increasing all the time, but it seems he remained fit enough in mind and body to conduct these interviews with little trouble. He was recorded as five feet eleven inches tall, and by the end of his successful six months in London, weighed fifty stone. Fifty.
Daniel lived in Leicester, travelling occasionally to exhibit himself until he visited Stamford in 1809 to view some horses. He died, presumably from heart failure in a public house, where the wall had to be taken out to remove his body. He is buried in Stamford.
