Tonight Tony is playing in a poker tournament - organised by our local casino, and open to all poker players, young or old, male or female, amateur or professional .
To be fair to my fat friend, he's no fool when it comes to high-stake card games, and if he manages to steer clear of strong lager, avoids drinking whisky, and isn't distracted by any pretty girls ( that shouldn't be too difficult - because where we live, there aren't that many), Tony could be a thousand pounds richer, by the end of the day.
Tony reckons that gambling is what he does best, and that with his nerves of steel he has all that's required to beat the opposition, and boost our finances with some much-needed cash.
The boy has often thought about turning his back on England, and moving to Las Vegas, to carve out a career as a professional pôker player.
I told him that it's probably a lot harder than it really sounds, and that whilst the bright lights of Vegas seem appealing, behind every success there's a thousand failures.
Tony agreed with me, and realises that although south-east London is nothing like Nevada (never has a truer word been spoken), IT is home to us.
Anyway, I'll be cheering Tony on tonight, and making sure that he concentrates on what he does best, and walks away with the first prize.
HE says that he can do it - and when the fattest man in London is in the right frame of mind - anything is possible!