Dear Diary. I woke up at 1 am last night with 3-year-old saying, "I'm hungry, I'm hungry" over and over. I went to the kitchen, got a piece of apple and offered it to him but he pushed away in disgust. He would only say "I'm hungry, I'm hungry" in a kind of a wounded, tired tone of voice. I tried to be a negotiator like the kind you see in movies, who talks terrorists into giving hostages off a plane. And I was telling him, "You can't have an ice lolly now, it's nighttime now. You can't have an ice lolly, you can have a piece of apple, that's all you can eat." And all he would say is "I'm hungry." I said, "I'm going back to bed." So I went back to bed but I could still hear him saying "I'm hungry, I'm hungry." In the end, Girlfriend got up, but she had no success either. All 3-year-old would say is "I'm hungry." Finally, she offered him a banana. Then he nodded glumly and we brought him his banana and he ate that. Then after that, he still didn't go to sleep. So we put him into our bed and that's where he fell asleep. It was 2:30 am by that point. The whole thing took one and a half hours.

I fell back asleep and then Girlfriend woke me up at 8 o'clock saying that we need to go, we have to take 3-year-old to speech therapy. Today is his last session.

So I'm walking through Girona carrying the car seat with Girlfriend and 3-year-old behind me. And then I hear an American woman say "It's the counsellors, it's the counsellors," and an American man say "It's the counsellors at school, they don't listen." There's a group of Americans, five of them. The men are muscled and handsome and the women are beautiful. They all look like gods who have come down from Mount Olympus to visit the mere mortals for the day. Hearing an American accent in Girona is always thrilling for me. Ever since I was a boy, I've always wanted to live in the United States. Everything's bigger there, better there. I love Americans, I really do. Realistically, my only chances of becoming an American like them is to either marry an American or to somehow become rich and to get an entrepreneur visa. I've looked at up. I wonder if one of the Americans standing on the pavement in Girona will marry me, maybe if I tell them, I'm a prince, Harry and William's secret brother.