Dave & Vinny: Fridays

The Rampant Horse, a weathered pub with sagging beams and windows fogged from decades of neglect, sweat, and spilled ale, sat at the heart of the Longcroft Estate. It was one of those places that looked as though it had grown out of the Yorkshire stone itself, stubborn and unyielding.

Inside, the light was dim, the wood was dark, and Ken, the grumpy barman, was leaning over the bar, wiping down a glass that seemed like it hadn’t been washed in ages. Ken was as much a part of the Rampant Horse as its creaky floorboards. He’d been there longer than anyone could remember, serving pints with a scowl that could turn milk sour.

Dave and Vinny, lifelong mates with faces lined from work and laughter, slouched in their favourite spot by the bar, each nursing a pint of bitter. They came here every Friday, not just for the drink, but because Friday was something sacred. Not that they’d ever admit it.

Dave took a long pull on his pint and leaned back with a sigh. “You know, Vin, there’s just something special about Fridays, you know?”

Vinny nodded, squinting over the rim of his glass. “Aye, Dave. Reckon Fridays are like Christmas, but every week. Ken should wear a red hat ‘n give out presents, eh?”

Ken glared over his shoulder. “If your present is me pouring you another pint, then yeah, it’s Christmas. Otherwise…