Brick Lane- one of London's finest of Sunday street markets.

Brick Lane- an East End Sunday market treasure.

Brick Lane is undoubtedly the finest of all Sunday's street markets. Who says so? I do. It knocks the spots off other markets. It's the bees knees, a supremely wonderful Sunday market and there can be no higher praise. Of course the Portobello has its virtues and merits but I think the gold should go to Brick Lane. Ladies and Gentlemen I give you Brick Lane, one of the jewels in the East End crown. It's a prince among Sunday markets and, surely one of the best if not the best. If I had a trophy or medal to give Brick Lane it would certainly give me enormous pleasure to hand one over to them.

 At the moment Brick Lane is one of the hippest, coolest and loveliest of London streets. On Sunday it bursts into a kaleidoscope of colour, a livng, breathing organism that pulses and throbs with life and vitality. At the moment it is the place to be seen and heard at. It's fashionable, arty, bohemian, culturally diverse, full of atmosphere and vibrancy, character and charm. It bubbles and hums with lively chatter, market traders shouting at a  bristlingly boisterous full voice, chattering, gossiping, laughing and just fascinating. But that's the way it's always been so this was unarguable.

And yet this is the way it's always been. Since the beginning of the 20th century the Sunday market in Brick Lane has characterised everything the East End has been renowned for. There was our wonderful Jewish community with its juicy humour, the salt beef and beigel folk. its charismatic fruit and veg stalls, the clatter of cutlery echoing  around Brick Lane,the cheek and chutzpah, the banter and bonhomie and the constant sound of 1960s music blaring out from old tapes and transistor radios. It was the most heartwarming sight and sound of the week and none could have failed not to notice it nor be enchanted by it.

Now though Brick Lane is brighter, bigger, happier and more contented than it's ever been before. Those tourists come from all over the world, mingling delightedly among the latest art galleries, wine bars and organic cafes that have suddenly sprung up all over Brick Lane. But then Brick Lane on a Sunday is unlike any Sunday street market you're ever likely to see. It's just overwhelmingly friendly, welcoming, surprising and almost totally engrossing. It's arresting on the eye and just a joy to behold.

 You can't help but be drawn into its mouth watering variety of stalls, its earthy charisma, its down to earth authenticity. Nothing posh or superficial about Brick Lane. You can feel it in the air, the warmth, the sounds and colours almost floating in the air with an effortless ease. It has electricity, magnetism, feeling, sentimentality, a permanent soundtrack, people strolling, stopping, considering, peering, gazing with admiration before falling in love with it. Yes you can become besotted with Brick Lane and that's why it's so perenially popular. You have to be part of it, be connected it.

But there is something much deeper under the surface here. My wife, daughter and father in law decided that the week before Christmas seemed an ideal opportunity to get up close and personal with Brick Lane. What a market! I have to tell you Brick Lane did just the trick again. Sometimes there are occasions when everything feels absolutely right. Brick Lane ticked all of the right boxes It just felt as if Brick Lane were showing off, flaunting its finest colours, looking at itself in the mirror and striding into the distance in its smartest suit. It's bold, modern, now very mainstream and artistically absorbing. It was buzzy, sparky, life enhancing, funky, positive, atmospheric in the extreme and excellent entertainment.

For instance there were the stalls with their rich profusion of everything. There were the novelties, the stalls that groaned and overflowed with all manner of merchandise. There were the curios, curiosities, the things you may have seen a hundred times and never tired of. There were the hundreds of tomatoes, butternut squashes, marrows and the richly red apples that gleamed fiercely in the fading December gloom. There were the thousands of oranges and clementines splendidly displayed like soldiers on parade. There is something very special about Brick Lane and maybe that appeal will never ever vanish.

As we continued our Brick Lane stroll down memory lane we saw yet more confirmation that the Sunday market in Brick Lane remains an essential part of our great British heritage. The faces may have changed through the years and decades but the stalls are wonderfully charged and ready to embrace you with the most affectionate of all hugs.

There were lamp shades, sewing machines, bottles that looked as though they'd last seen service on the great naval ships of history, Aztec tribal carvings, picture frames hidden away in discreet boxes and much more.  There were the priceless porcelain ornaments, handsome pieces of pottery, the trinkets, the jewellery, the trivia, the ephemera, the gentleman who grabbed hold of a guitar and sat down on the floor as if the spirit of Eric Clapton had suddenly visited him.And then there was the grafitti! Now that was very striking. In fact it blew your mind away. I don't think I'd seen so much grafitti. It was a riot of colour, a wild combination of the sublime and ridiculous, surreal letters in the most exaggerated of styles. Just stunning.

Now I'm not sure how long this effusive  tribute to creative art has been around for but I'd like to personally thank you grafitti artists around the world.  Wherever you looked in Brick Lane grafitti ruled the roost. Every wall in Brick Lane seemed to be dripping with grafitti. There was the grafitti that seemed to speak a thousand languages, grafitti that clearly proclaimed and pronounced, graffiti that broadly suggested the political and controversial. There was grafitti that was outrageous, emblazoned across the East End like some very profound statement of truth. Then there was the grafitti that was stark, vivid and truly expressive.

 And then there was the grafitti that certainly looked angry and rebellious, the grafitti that had the most obvious messages, the grafitti that had a fierce and dissenting voice, the grafitti that was brash. bolshy and belligerent, the grafitti that drove home the home truths, that was provocative, aghast and  plainly furious.

So wherever we went in Brick Lane we saw the new face of the East End. We saw the tiny pop up shops that briefly dominate the Shoreditch end of Brick Lane before moving off to another venue. We saw the familiar row upon row of old records, old clothes, the warmly nostalgic items, the charming bric a brac, the ebb and flow of passing trade,  There is a timelessness and uniqueness about Brick Lane that may always live in the soul of the East End of London. I'd like to raise a toast to Brick Lane, a Sunday market in a class of its own.