Dave and Vinny: Musk & Mars

Tales from the Rampant Horse

The Rampant Horse stood proud — or at least slightly leaning — on the Longcroft Estate, battered by years of rough Yorkshire weather and rougher Yorkshire banter. Inside, the low hum of the jukebox filled the gaps between clinking pint glasses, the occasional bark of Scraps (Vinny’s ever-hungry mutt), and the sharp exchanges between the locals.

Ken, the perpetually grumpy barman, was polishing a glass with all the enthusiasm of a man sentenced to life without parole. Sandra, the barmaid, sashayed behind the bar, her razor wit as quick as her wink at any punter who tipped generously. Lecherous Lee, predictably seated by the fruit machine, was in his usual state of semi-alert ogling.

At the corner table, Dave and Vinny were nursing pints and leaning over a smartphone as though it held the secrets of the universe.

“Oi, Ken!” shouted Vinny, turning his attention briefly from the screen. “What do you reckon to this Elon Musk, then? Dave reckons he’s some kind of genius.”

Ken snorted, setting the glass down with a bang. “Genius? Bloke’s just a rich lunatic with a Twitter account. If I had his money, I wouldn’t be faffing about with rockets, I’d be on a beach in Tenerife with a pint and no daft questions from you lot.”