dysfunctional in Scotland

My buddy isn't doing that great. Bored of manual labour, bewildered at rebuttals from more intellectual occupations, shut out of his profession, he clings to the comfort of the vast kitchen in his tenement, with the people he somewhat knows, and in the city and country that has somewhat let him down. Always a slow processor, my dear buddy nevertheless always had the right instincts. Joblessness doesn't take away from his gentlemanliness. Complacency was always his flaw though.
I'm afraid for him. Brave as he is, his current situation must be hard to bear, with friends and lovers leaving his town, and no financial or professional security materialising on the horizon. and he is proud, always proud. He hasn't tried to use any contacts, or been terribly aggressive with the sluggish job market. he is infuriating! but his strange innocence and even stranger native wisdom tugs at my heart and i want to move the earth to help him.
i told him to come to london and be taken care of, and he laughed at my attempt to be a mummy-figure. i told him to go home now, just for a breather, but he refused, coming up with some obscure metaphor about climbing cliffs and the next peak, and the next base camp.
he is a dysfunctional charming wee laddie, and i want it all to work out for him.