Tony reckons that when he was a small boy, and life seemed so much easier, he knew that unemployment would be his thing by the time he was forty, and that the thought of working for a living after forty didn't really excite him, in the way a pint of ice-cold lager and a cigarette does.
The boy occasionally refers back to his childhood, which he says was a cross between bliss and utter misery, punctuated by moments of sheer joy or total depression.
I reckon he's right when he says everything that has happened to him is the fault of his parents, because they were the ones who failed to teach him that excessive drinking, petty theft and a hatred of all people foreign are not the things that make small, chubby boys into men that make their parents proud.
Of course, Tony's father was a hopeless, unemployed drinker, who spent most of his life either sat at a bar, or behind bars, whenever he got caught doing things that he shouldn't have been doing. And as for his mother - well, she was just an idle slut, who drank as much as his father, and slept with most men on the estate where Tony grew up.
Sadly, nothing good came out of Tony's childhood, even if he reckons that thanks to one of his aunties, he learnt how to cook decent, traditional food. Alas, if the burnt sausages he cooked for breakfast are anything to go by, I told him that either he's lying, or his auntie was just as fucking useless as his mother.
Still, as he says, at least he made the effort, where as I just sit there, and moan about the fact that he's a useless cook, and that he'd be better sticking to what he does best - DRINKING AND SMOKING!