Dave and Vinny: Inauguration Day

Tales from the Rampant Horse

The Rampant Horse pub stood proudly, if a little shabbily, at the edge of the Longcroft Estate, a beacon of cheap lager and misplaced hope. It was the sort of place where everyone knew your business, whether you told them or not, and where the smell of stale beer mixed with the faint whiff of last weeks pork pie.

Tonight, Dave and Vinny occupied their usual corner, pints in hand and a pack of pork scratchings shoved between them on the sticky table. Scraps, Vinny's wiry terrier, sat hopefully under the table, waiting for any porky goodness to fall.

"So, Trump's president now," said Dave, sipping his pint. "Who saw that coming?"

"Not the Americans, apparently," said Vinny, smirking. "They thought they were signing up for a reality show. Surprise! It’s the apocalypse."

"Aye," Dave said, scratching his chin. "Though, to be fair, it’s not like they had many options is it. A bit like us red or blue not much choice for you."

"Yes, the old two party system just doesn't seem to fit the modern age. But Dave...Trump for God's sake."

"I know Vin, I'd have gone for Harris myself rather than that self-serving orange Umpa Lumpa. " Dave said, shaking his head.

Ken the landlord, a man whose permanent scowl suggested he’d seen one too many shifts at the Rampant Horse, shuffled over to clear the neighbouring table.

"You two putting the world to rights again?" Ken grumbled.

"Trying to, Ken," said Dave. "But Trump’s made a mess of it before we even got started."

Ken sniffed. "Bloke’s a prat. Not that it’ll make any difference to us here. Same as always: A round’s a round, and taxes are still a rip-off."

Sandra, the barmaid, leaned on the bar, drying a pint glass with an effort that looked more for show than effectiveness. "I don’t see what all the fuss is about," she said, in her usual bright tone. "He’s not our president. Let the Yanks deal with him."

"Ah, Sandra, if only it worked like that," Vinny said, giving her a sly grin. "What America does, the rest of us feel. Like when your upstairs neighbours decide it’s time for a disco at 2am."

Sandra rolled her eyes. "You’re such a pessimist, Vinny. Cheer up, love and besides who says disco in 2025?"

"He’s beyond cheer, Sandra," said Dave, grinning. "He's been traumatised ever since he last had to buy a round."

Vinny raised his eyebrows, "Says the man so tight he squeaks when he walks."

Lecherous Lee, a fixture of the pub and a man who had earned his nickname many times over, sidled up to the bar. He eyed Sandra in a way that made her visibly uncomfortable, though she was used to it by now.

"Evenin', Sandra," Lee said, leering. "You’re looking... well, lovely as ever."

"Evening, Lee," Sandra replied flatly. "What’ll it be? Half of arsenic? A flyer garic toastie? Hemlock surprise?"

"Pint of lager. And your phone number, if you’re feeling generous."

Ken groaned audibly from the other end of the bar. "Give it a rest, Lee. You’ve got less chance than a sausage roll at a vegan restaurant."

"Can’t fault a man for trying," Lee said, winking at Sandra. She handed him his pint without another word and walked to the far end of the bar, safely out of reach.

"Subtle as ever, Lee," Vinny called out. "Ever thought of going into advertising?"

"Natural charm, mate," Lee replied. "Not that you’d know much about that."

Scraps let out a low growl.

"Even the dog doesn’t like you Lee." Dave said, chuckling.

"I’ll have you know I’m very popular with the ladies," Lee said, taking a long sip of his pint. "It’s all about confidence."

"Is that what you call it?" Vinny said. "From where I’m sitting, it’s more like delusion. Here you're not related to Trump are you? He's got bags of confidence and a tiny," Vinny paused just long enough, "brain."

"At least I’m out there having a go," Lee shot back. "Unlike you two. You just sit here every night, moaning about the world."

"Aye, but we do it in style." Dave said, raising his pint.

"You call this style?" Lee said, gesturing around the pub. The threadbare carpet and flickering lights weren’t exactly the height of glamour.

"Alright, alright," Ken interrupted, clearly fed up. "Can we all just drink in peace for once? Some of us are trying to work here. Lee, if you don't like my pub you can always choose to take your patronage elsewhere."

Now clearly sulking Lee returned to his table.

Vinny was not finished spotting a clear opportunity to wind up Ken.

"Work?" Vinny said with mock surprise. "You call standing there pulling pints work?"

Ken glared at him. "Careful, Vinny. I’m this close to cutting you off."

"Don’t threaten me with a good time," Vinny said, raising his hands in surrender.

Dave shook his head, chuckling. "You’re incorrigible, mate."

"It’s a gift," Vinny said, tossing a pork scratching to Scraps. The dog caught it mid-air, earning a round of applause from the table next to them. "Better entertainment than anything Trump’s inauguration will manage, that’s for sure."

"Amen to that," Dave said, draining the last of his pint. "Now, whose round is it?"

"Yours," Vinny said quickly, leaning back with a smug grin.

Dave groaned, but he stood up anyway. "Fine, but you’re paying next time."

"If there’s a next time," Vinny replied. "Trump might have blown us all up by then."

"Thanks for that cheerful thought, but we'll be alright he's best pals with Rootin' Tottin' shootin' Putin. Oh and he was also cosying up to that nutter in North Korea last time he was in office." Dave said, heading to the bar.

"You can't call Kim Jong Un a nutter. That's not very PC Dave." said Sandra with a smile on her face.

"Since we have free speak over here I have stronger words for the little dictator with the emphasis on Dick." said Dave.

"Pay no attention to our Dave, Sandra he's just peeved because he's had to put his hand in his pocket." said Vinny.

In the Rampant Horse, at least, life carried on. And no matter what chaos would unfolded across the pond, there’d always be banter, beer, and the odd pork scratching to keep the world turning. But what would come in years to follow? Would Ken accept tips in crypto? Would Lee become a radical feminist? Would Scraps go Vegan? Find out next time in the Tales from the Rampant Horse.