If you ask how I see things – half empty or half full – I say not only is the glass drained, it’s dry. It’s a question of survival. A well-trained eye – for a bargain, for a mug – you know, prey. Bread and butter. I move like a shark, mate. Better to be the nutter alone, than swim about helpless with a school of bait. It’s the age of the individual, believe anything else, you’re a fool. And fate has made us the generation that cashes in. It’s either take my slice or end up easy pickings.