Hugh Grant doesn't make bumbling appearances in Notting Hill any more - at least he didn't on the day I was there. And Julia Roberts is long gone.

So is the famous blue door - sold to a collector - behind which Grant and his shambling flatmate lived in the film, Notting Hill. Even the formerly struggling book shop is now a boutique called Gong.

What's more, there isn't a Notting Hill Road. It's Portobello Road, in the London suburb of Notting Hill, and it is best known for its monster Saturday markets.

That sorted - the rest is easy. Hop on the tube to Notting Hill Gate. If it's Saturday morning, any time from 8am onwards, follow the stream of people until you hit the cross street of Chepstow Villas. It's from here on, down Portobello Road, where the real action begins. If you are lucky, there will be a whitewashed human street statue or two on the corner, further down an old guy tap dancing to music from his tape recorder, and various pockets of entertainment.

But the real buzz comes from the stalls - hundreds of them, literally - that line both footpaths, almost blocking out sight of the shops, which weekdays are worth a visit in their own right.

There is a sort of order to it all. Antiques come first, and take up the bulk of the area. It is subtitled 'the world's largest antiques market', after all. However, you need to take that word 'antiques' a little loosely. You'll certainly find the real thing as far as Georgian and Victoria silver trays, for instance, and highly polished brass band instruments, but there's also the unusual (Appleby Antiques specialises in jelly moulds) and the far-out. Like the mechanical pencils at Phyllis Gorlick-King's stall.

Further down the road (and even if you started early, by now the stream of people has swollen to a river, reaching a log-jam at times) the market morphs into a Paddy's Market of jewellery, clothing, and bric-a-brac, interspersed with prints and pots and pans, pewter and pond yachts (yes, really) as well as wartime gas masks and china dolls.

The tide of shoppers moves slowly. Take a mobile phone if you go with someone, as if you don't - and you get separated - you may not find them again until 5pm when the markets pack up. Each stall is so crammed with 'bargains' that it's impossible to stride through - even if the jostling crowd would allow it.

That's because there are real bargains here. I found my own prize - a magnifying mirror on an extension arm, a la the ones I had seen in posh hotel bathrooms. I'd priced them in Australia (er, around $200) and yelped with joy when I found one on a table at the markets for 11 quid.

But this is nowhere near the record find. The story goes that around twenty years ago, someone was rummaging around in a box of old papers (they have wills and deeds here, too, if you are into genealogy) and found Paul McCartney's hand-written lyrics to Hey Jude. Except the stall-holder didn't realize they were the originals and sold them off for a couple of pounds. Turns out they were later valued at 80,000 pounds sterling!

And while all this might sound like a sort of London car-boot sale, it's a very upmarket one. Fashionistas come here for antique shawls, kitsch-yet-catchy jewellery, and funky finds. A Vogue journalist has a stall selling vintage designer shoes, and the designers themselves keep a good eye on the trends here.

Right at the end of it all, where the gentle slope evens out, and there are stalls to buy Thai noodles and spring rolls and falafels, here is where the food begins. Greengrocers proclaim the ripeness of their peaches, bakers sell lardy cake alongside sourdough, while next door there are buckets of flowers and herbs, or baskets of chestnuts and chocolates. This is where you come at the end of your shopping trip, to grab some things for dinner - or flowers to take to the friend who's cooking your dinner.

It's a rich and varied place - full of surprises. So much so, you get the feeling, that if Hugh Grant turned up holding hands with Julia Roberts, no one would even take a second glance.

- Sally Hammond

READ ALL ABOUT IT

Notting Hill, the movie, is about a bookshop, so why not get into a recent book release that celebrates the area and its food? Carina Cooper is a local, and if you are there, you may see her swinging her shopping bag full of produce she has gleaned from the foodie end of the markets. Her book, of course, is called Notting Hill Cookbook (Weidenfeld & Nicolson) rrp £49.95. It's a bright read, crammed with yummy recipes and pictures of the markets as well as her food. Almost as good as going there. Almost.

WHILE IN THE AREA YOU MUST.........

Leave the main drag for a moment and head off up one of the side streets. On Elgin Street there is The Grocer on Elgin, an elegantly restrained provedore where the exceptionally fine products are displayed with almost a gallery-like reverence. 

Just across the street is Neals Yard Remedies, which, as you would guess, has an extensive range of complementary medicines, including homoeopathic remedies, essential oils and herbs, in addition to the complete 'blue bottle' hair and skin care range.

Coco Ribbon, in Kensington Park Road, near Elgin Crescent, is run by Australian Alison Hampl. As the name suggests this frilly feminine spot offers all the most girlie gifts, plus decadent bits and baubles, you could ask for.

Visit the Sausage and Mash Cafe, under Westway, where the bangers are made with only the best cuts of meat and freshly blended seasonings. There are even vegetarian choices.

Come back weekdays for a leisurely look at the shops behind the stalls, and those stalls that operate all week

PUB TRIVIA

Did you know that Portobello was once a farm, and the road was the lane leading to it? The Market began in the late 1860's or early 1870's.

GETTING THERE

Underground: Ladbroke Grove (Hammersmith & City Line) or Notting Hill Gate (Centre, Circle, and District lines).

Buses: 7, 12, 23, 27, 28, 31, 52, 70, 94, 328.

MORE INFO: Portobello Road Markets, Portobello Road