THESE are tough times we are living through. Almost five years into the recession and everyone – except the fat cats and their plump littermates – is feeling the pinch.

Unemployment, fuels bills and inflation steadily rise, while wages, pensions and assets lose ground in real terms.

My excitement at winning £1.5 million last month soon turned to disappointment when I discovered it was just an internet scam.

I don’t do the Lottery, I haven’t got a fabulously rich relative and the chances of a huge pay rise from the Examiner are about as likely as Red Rum winning the Grand National again, God rest his soul.

So last weekend, I decided to grab the bull by the horns and take radical action to improve my finances.

My friend Mish has been regaling me for some time with tales of untold riches to be made by selling unwanted bits and bats at Huddersfield’s Saturday market.

Unable to resist any longer, I agreed to go along and dragged myself out of bed at 5.30am last Saturday with pound signs dancing around my sleep-encrusted eyes.

I donned several layers of thermals and a tall furry hat in the shape of a penguin to attract the punters.

My ambition was to sell dozens of brand new trolls – remember them? – which came into my possession, during a previous (not-so-successful) money-making scheme.

My ugly plastic dolls with the brightly coloured hair were rare, they came direct from Denmark and would be a sure-fire winner. I added more toys and clothing for good measure.

We arrived before 7am and queued up until 8am when the duty officer allotted the stalls. I was frustrated to learn that we were not allowed to pack up before 4pm – how would I occupy the hours after I’d sold all my stock?

Unfortunately, my pitch was outdoors, near Tesco, and miles away from Mish. But on the bright side, my neighbours were very pleasant: Diane, Sarah and baby Grace, three generations from Northowram.

We unpacked our treasures and waited...and, in my case, ...waited and waited...

The few people that came past pointed to the trolls and laughed, they recalled stories of their trolls as children, they even picked them up ....before putting them down and walking off.

A very lively family came past with several unruly children. They didn’t buy anything, but I did notice I was a couple of trolls lighter after their departure. Eventually a man from Eastern Europe offered £3 for a wooden Christmas tree I was asking £5 for. The cheek of it! Obviously, I turned him down.

The hours dragged by and Penguin’s head began to droop just a little. Diane watched the stall while I went to buy a hot coffee from a young lady in the market café who was sporting a pair of long stripey socks, a tiny, bare shouldered Santa outfit the size of a ladies’ handkerchief and very little else. It was 6°C.

I called in on Mish, who couldn’t stop to chat for long as she was too busy with customers. So Penguin and I trudged back for another few hours on the stall. Not even Diane, a regular, had managed to sell my wares.

I passed the rest of the day combing all the trolls’ hair and joggling baby Grace on my knee when Diane and Sarah were rushed off their feet. Baby Grace did her best to bring people in , she smiled and smiled at everyone and periodically shouted Daddy! at passers-by of both sexes.

Eventually a couple of people took pity on me and bought a few trolls. My, did they haggle. I was hardly asking a lot, but had halved my prices by the afternoon.

Finally –almost 10 hours after setting off and, after stall rental and insurance, several pounds lighter – I packed up. Just before we left Diane offered me £3 for the wooden Christmas tree – I nearly bit her hand off.

It wasn’t a complete waste of time, I got 15 kitchen trolls from the man on the next stall for the knock-down price of £2.50.

Still, I’m not sure I’m ready for The Apprentice yet.