Many moons ago in the depths of a harsh (V cold) winter at Scampton, a tin triangle did a high speed abort on 23. It ended up on the overrun, which was a piece of soft tarmac designed to allow the ac to sink into it to prevent it rolling through the boundary fence, across the road and down the ridge.
Anyway, there was this steaming heap, sitting atop this frozen tarmac, with Staish, OC Eng, Sqn Cdr et al scratching heads as to how they were going to get it off the 'soft' tarmac. V small girly (Acting Plt Off) engineer u/t who was under tow with OC Eng piped up with a suggestion and was roundly slapped down because a) she was a girly and b) she knew nothing about aircraft and c) this was a major problem for grown ups to solve. In short, she didn't have the brain power.
She hung around a bit, whilst her elders and betters figured out how to get ropes around the landing gear to allow the big tug (weighing several tons) to sit on the concrete runway then tow the ac off the tarmac backwards. Much talk about geometry, stress on the landing gear, tug sinking into the tarmac, etc, when girly got V fed up because no-one would listen and exclaimed in a very loud voice for all to hear... 'If the bloody Vulcan weighing 20 tons on narrow wheels hasn't sunk into the bloody tarmac, I don't suppose the tug on big fat wheels weighing 5 tons will sink in either'...
She turned on her heels and stomped off, leaving said 'experts' to ponder on the wisdom of youff... 'See to it Chief', says OC Eng, sliding quietly towards his car. Convoy of Scampton's finest departs the scene...