Dave and Vinny: Away Day at the Humber

It was a rare sun-drenched afternoon in Yorkshire, the sort of day that almost made you forget the Longcroft estate was held together by peeling paint, dodgy scaffolding, and sheer bloody mindedness.

Dave and Vinny sat on a battered wooden bench overlooking the distant Humber Bridge, its steel cables slicing the sky like knitting needles through blue wool. Between them was a flask of tea, two cling-filmed ham sandwiches, and a packet of cheese and onion crisps already half-empty thanks to Scraps, Vinny’s wheezing terrier, who had a nose like a truffle pig and the appetite of a bin.

“Y’know,” said Dave, tearing into his sandwich, “this ain’t bad, is it? Bit of fresh air, no shouting, no Ken moaning about how he’s ‘not your flaming therapist’, no Lecherous Lee trying to chat up Sandra with his breath smelling like gone-off pickled eggs…”

Vinny nodded, brushing crumbs off his faded tracksuit bottoms. “Aye. You forget there’s a world outside the Rampant Horse. Peaceful, this. Civilised.”

Scraps belched.

“Mostly civilised,” Dave amended.

They sipped their tea in contented silence for a moment, basking in the unfamiliar serenity. But like most good things in Dave and Vinny’s life, it didn’t last.

A shriek from above shattered the calm. A massive seagull — a real bruiser, all beady eyes and malicious intent — dive-bombed Vinny’s head, missing by inches and swooping off with half of his ham sandwich.