Dave and Vinny: Pints and Peace of Mind
The smell of stale beer clung to the air like the pub’s yellowed net curtains clung to the window frames. It was just past six on a Tuesday evening and the Rampant Horse was already half full of the usual suspects.
Dave shuffled in, nodding to a couple of familiar faces, then gave a short wave to Vinny, who was sat by the fireplace with Scraps curled under his stool like a grubby footstool.
"Evening, pilgrim," Vinny said, raising his pint with a grin. "Come to find enlightenment in this holiest of places?"
Dave slid into the chair opposite him, setting his own pint down with a thud. “Don’t start. Carol’s been banging on about mindfulness again. Told me I need to be more in the present.”
Vinny raised an eyebrow. “The present? You’ve barely mastered the late 80s as your fashion sense tells us.”
“Exactly what I said. But she’s got me doing breathing exercises. I sat on the rug last night, crossed my legs, and pulled something I haven’t used since the ‘95 Cup Final.”
Scraps let out a grumble that might have been a snore or just his opinion.
“I told you,” Vinny said, scratching the dog’s ears, “self-care’s a con. It’s just lying down in spandex trousers."
Dave shook his head. “It’s not all bad. I had a bath with lavender oil last week. Carol said it would open my chakras.”
“Did it?”
“No, but it definitely opened my pores. I sweated like a pig in a sauna.”
Just then, Ken the barman appeared with his usual scowl, which had been permanently welded onto his face since sometime around 1983.
“Are you two going to nurse them pints all night? This isn't a social club you know."
he grumbled, wiping his hands on a bar towel that looked like it’d been used to clean an engine.
“Ken, we’re being mindful,” Vinny said, motioning to his half-empty glass. “Savouring each moment and let's face it we have to with the price of a pint these days.”
“Savour someone else's bar then,” Ken muttered as he walked off.
Sandra the barmaid sauntered past, tray in hand and cleavage defying several health and safety regulations. Lecherous Lee practically fell off his stool watching her go by.
“She’s been doing yoga,” Dave whispered, eyes fixed ahead.
“Who, Sandra?”
“Yeah. Apparently it’s part of her self-care routine.”
Vinny leaned closer. “Well she’s certainly managed to centre her... energies.”
They both laughed like schoolboys, drawing a suspicious look from Sick Note Keith who was sat hunched over a lager, wrapped in a scarf despite the heating being on full blast.
Keith coughed with the delicacy of a man trying to fake pneumonia. “Mindfulness?” he said. “I did a course on that. NHS paid for it. Got a certificate and everything.”
Dave blinked. “Wait, you're actually qualified in mindfulness?”
“Yeah. They said it’d help me with stress.”
“You don’t work, Keith.”
“Exactly. Imagine how stressful that is.”
Vinny gave him a slow nod of admiration. “You’re playing life like it’s chess and the rest of us are still trying to read the rules on the box.”
Scraps barked once, then farted.
“That’s his version of a guided meditation,” Vinny said. “Find your breath, or rather—avoid his.”
The banter was broken briefly as Ken slammed two fresh pints down in front of them.
"On the house," he said gruffly. "For services to sanity."
Dave frowned. “Ken, are you feeling all right?”
“I overheard the bit about you trying to open your chakras in the bath,” he replied. “That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard since Lee tried to flirt with Sandra.”
Across the room, Lecherous Lee was leaning against the bar, delivering what could only be described as an oral disaster.
“Did it hurt?” he was saying.
“What?” Sandra sighed.
“When you fell from heaven.”
Sandra didn’t blink. “No, but I did strain my wrist trying to swat the last fly that used that line.”
Dave leaned back in his chair, took a sip of his pint and sighed. “You know, maybe this is mindfulness.”
Vinny nodded. “Yeah. Being present, accepting what is, and knowing that what is... is mostly bollocks and if you wait long enough the world will manifest you a free pint.”
“True that.”
They clinked glasses.
And in the cosy, chaotic refuge of the Rampant Horse, surrounded by broken radiators and even more broken people, self-care took the form of a pint, a mate, and the reassuring stink of Scraps.
