My night at Covent Garden (the market, not the opera)

Unusually violent storms in February had wrecked most of the tomato crop in both Morocco and the Canary Islands and consistently overcast skies had meant tomatoes grown under glass in Spain had ripened more slowly than usual.

Worst of all, in France a freak snowstorm had closed down Perpignan market for the first time in its history. Prices sometimes rose and fell by 300 per cent in the space of a week.

At this time of year, the low point of British vegetable production, the market trades in only 30-40 per cent of British fruit and veg: in the summer, this rises to more than 80 per cent.

The UK's offering is cabbages, cauliflower, swede, kale, leeks, carrots and lots of potatoes and onions, all hauled in from as far away as Somerset and as close as Offham in Kent.

I spent the first part of the night with the wholesalers on Buyer's Walk, watching the crates arrive on lorries.

The prices they sell to the retailers for are determined by the quantity and quality available that night.

If one wholesaler figures out they are the only one with a delivery of lychees, they will push their price upwards.

Then we moved on to the catering distributors, where the crates are picked according to orders from kitchens in restaurants, hotels, canteens, schools and hospitals before being sent off into the night on smaller lorries. We joined Dave Luff in Cream of the Crop's warehouse.

It was an Aladdin's cave of food: avocados being ripened in a temperate room, 14 different kinds of mushroom, soft fruit purées from France, beautiful-looking asparagus, baby carrots, perfect mangoes.

Cream of The Crop's main customers are upmarket restaurants such as The Criterion and Galvins, so they get the best of the crop, all trimmed and presented to perfection.

Work goes on until seven or eight in the morning, when the traders eat lunch in one of the tiny cafés, which sell a steady supply of tea, coffee, buns, crisps and biscuits throughout the night.

It was freezing in the market, and carbohydrates are a life saver. But by eight, it's half a chicken and chips, washed down with mugs of tea laced with brandy. I asked everyone I met how much they slept. The answer was: very little, usually from 8 to 11 in the evenings, five days a week, then a wipe-out at the weekend. I didn't get the impression that marriages survived that long.

In the Eighties, almost all the food consumed in London passed through one of the big markets: Covent Garden, Spitalfields and Western International. Nowadays, the dominance of supermarkets, who have their own separate food depots, has reduced the scope and buying power of independent retailers and street traders. But their importance is crucial if we are to enable British producers to access the wealth of the capital.

I loved my night in the market: everyone I met is passionate about their work - and their humour is infectious. Every night, even on Fridays, Saturdays (from 4am to 10am) and Sundays, the age-old routines persist, and at the end of the week every wholesaler gives his loyal market porter a "cotchel" of fruit and vegetables to take home for Sunday dinner. I even learned a new word...