I reckon Tony is going to burst with joy this morning.
He had a great result at the Unemployment Benefit Office yesterday, where his "personal advisor" told him that he's got another six months to find a job, otherwise he'll be forced to join the next Job Seekers Workshop. He thinks that it's a f*cking great result, and says that he can now go through winter and next spring knowing that he's got the green light to sit on his fat arse and do nothing.
True to his word, he paid for the cheeseburgers and lager last night, and boy, it all went down like a treat. As Tony says, apart from a decent steak, cheeseburgers are the best thing since sliced bread, and he admits to being slightly jealous of our American cousins, and all of their fast food restaurants.
Tonight we're off to the pub, because we want to celebrate the fact that it's almost the weekend, and also because our mate Glen is coming to visit us.
Glen is heavily tattooed, and like Tony, is a keen Arsenal fan. He also carries on him at all times a blunt iron bar, which he says is for his own protection. Tony says the neighbours in the downstairs flat are beginning to annoy him, so he might ask Glen to act as a mediator, and lash out at one of them with his weapon. I don't think Glen will object to the idea, because the neighbours should have been deported years ago, and as Glen rightly says, if illegal immigrants want to live in our country, they need to understand that it's us English who set the ground rules, and if people like Tony and me don't want to be kept up all night by their loud music, they better start by respecting our wishes.