Dear Diary. It's Sunday. I'm at Girona's second-hand market. There's stalls of crap. I have the task of buying Lego Minifigures, of all things. Girlfriend had the idea of getting an advent calendar that you fill yourself and I suggested we put Lego Minifigures in some of the boxes. The only place I know where to buy them is at the second-hand market.

There's a big box of figures, and each figure costs €2.50. That can't be right surely. I'd pay €2.50 for the entire box of figures, not for each individual one.

And some of the figures aren't even complete. There's a figure of Robin missing its hair. If I'm paying €2.50 for a Lego Minifigure of Robin, I at least want him to have a full set of hair. He's a 15-year-old boy for Christ's sake. He can't be bald yet.

The man who runs the stall must be a millionaire. He's getting rich off Lego Minifigures. He's got an underground used Lego Minifigure black market going on.

What happened to the days when advent calendars would just be a flap that you opened and there was a picture underneath and that was enough. A picture of children ice skating on a frozen lake or Santa drunk and asleep in his own vomit? What happened to those days? Why do kids need to present every day of December, why can’t it just be Christmas day?

I approach the man at the stall. Surely he'll be open to a bit of haggling. A bulk discount for buying ten figures. Surely.

"I've got ten figures here," I say.

He carefully counts them to make sure I haven't hidden an eleventh figure behind one of the first ten figures.

"25 euro," he says.

Jesus Christ. There's no discount at all. "Will you accept 15?" I say.

"15?" he scoffs. "These are Lego Minifigures, not Playmobil. No, the price is 25."

So I hand over 25 euros. For that price, you could buy a new Lego set.

My dad phones to tell me he's sending 3-year-old £50 for Christmas. What about me? What about me, Dad? I need money too. I've just spent €25 on Lego Minifigures. I need money too.

I'll be asking my son for loans soon. And he'll be giving me extortionate interest rates, like 1 million percent per month, because he knows how desperate I am. I’ll end up in debt to my son for the rest of my life. It'll get to the point where I'll be trying to pay him off with Lego Minifigures I've stolen from the second-hand market, and he'll just knock them out of my hand and demand the cash instead. I won't be able to pay him so 3-year-old will hire someone to break my legs, probably the same man who sells the Lego Minifigures, because he seems like the type of man who'd break people's legs for money. He's already ripped me off with his used Lego Minifigures for one thing, so who knows what else he does for money.