To market, to market in London

By NANCY CAWLEY*

Who said we can't relive past experiences? When I wound through the crowds at Portobello Market in London, it was just the same as it had been 20 years before - silverware, books, weird garments, fans, kites, furniture, statuary, vintage signs, paintings, jewellery, bric-a-brac, patriotic T-shirts and fossils.

Two blocks of permanent shops plus covered stalls, enlivened by street musicians, with a coffee shop or ethnic restaurant here and there in which to recover from the shopping and browsing. A magpie's paradise in a beautiful time warp.

Some of the stall-holders would have been the same as when I was there last. The three I spoke to had been trading for 30 years, but I couldn't see the most colourful person I remembered.

"I'm looking for the man who used to play a barrel-organ, the one with the brightly coloured cockatoo," I asked one of the stall-holders.

"Nah, he's not here, love. But his wife's down there on the corner in the caravan."

Twenty years ago, my young son had a photo taken standing beside the barrel-organ with the rainbow cockatoo on his head. The barrel-organ player - also in the photo - was the one person at Portobello Market I really wanted to meet again. But I was too late.

After performing for 25 years as one of the market's most popular identities, Wally Dover died in 1995.

There is a picture of him outside Margaret Dover's caravan. "You wouldn't believe the number of cards and letters I get," she says. Now she plays the barrel-organ, without the cockatoo, but with a pram full of dogs.

Years ago, I was told that Wally was worth millions and spent his holidays in the South of France. "Oh, I wish," says Margaret Dover, with a great, cheery, shouting laugh.

The disadvantage of being a tourist in such a setting is that however much you lust after an antique dresser or a marble bust, you have to choose something smaller and more portable.

So, keeping a grip on myself, I bought one souvenir - a small flaring silver sun that I wear around my neck on a silver chain. I'm still waiting for someone to comment on it so I can say, "Oh it's just a little something I picked up in Portobello Market."

The 100-year-old market began as a place where gypsies dealt in horses and herbs. Now it is billed as the largest antique market in the world.

The approach to the market from lower Portobello Rd passes a row of two-storey, cottage-style terrace houses with small front gardens. A plaque on one says "George Orwell, 1903-1950, Novelist, Political Essayist, lived here".

Part of the Kensington and Chelsea Borough, this is an area of middle-class style mixed with flamboyant ethnic living. Every August Bank Holiday since 1966, the spectacular Notting Hill Carnival has brought chaos to the streets.

It is also where the popular movie Notting Hill was filmed. Whether people expect to find Julia Roberts browsing in local bookshops or Hugh Grant strolling along with a takeaway coffee is not clear, but real estate agents have reported a surge of interest in Notting Hill properties.

After the market closed, I strolled down Westbourne Park Rd to a group of smart shops which looked trendy and alternative at the same time.

A sleeping wino sprawled on the pavement outside a shop selling bamboo furniture. In a health-food emporium called Fresh and Wild, I bought a falafel takeaway for my evening meal and caught the bus back to my Paddington hotel.

Make sure you see Portobello Market on a Saturday. The regular antique shops are open on other days and some guide-books encourage visits during the week, but only on Saturdays will you see this historic market at its best. Nancy Cawley

* Nancy Cawley flew with Cathay Pacific, with assistance from British Tourism.

Portobello Market

Portobello Road