I'm assuming it's not just me, and that anyone who's been to Chatuchak weekend Market in Bangkok will agree that there is only one word for this place and that word is 'delightfulinsanity'. The place is a sprawling mass of shopping opportunity, like a flea market with fatal elephantitis, or a high temple to the gods of trash and treasure. Somehow, in the two years since I last visited Bangkok, there's been a Name Change decreed from On High, and so all the signage now reads 'Jatujak Weekend Market' (or 'JJ's Market' if you're feeling funky ...), but I am feeling cantankerous and old skool, so Chatuchak it remains for me.

Chatuchak is difficult to describe when constrained by regular language usage. It is so vast, so swollen-bellied with stuff, and so mammoth in size that it seems like a joke to term it merely a 'market'.

You want second-hand sneakers from Tokyo or Osaka? You want to kit your kitchen out with a wok, gas burner and a set of 164 plastic plates and glass tumblers? Perhaps some mango-wood chopsticks and some incense that smells like lychees? Or maybe you'd rather just kick back and watch some blood sports - cock-fighting to be precise - while your pet poodles are clipped, dyed and then decked out in matching stars n stripes bandanas ... All of this is possible, and you've barely scratched the surface of Chatuchak.

Amid the stalls, elaborate shrines flourish - offering the deities all the goodness that red Fanta can muster.

Down another alleyway, you stumble upon an entire shopfront devoted to buckin' broncos and the bluegrass twang of American Country. This time, though, the cowboys are urban Thais.

Young Thai funksters sell clothing lines they've conceptualised, designed and stitched themselves. Their stalls are decked out like mini wallpaper* interiors shoots, and have names like 'Hamlet' and 'Idealist'. In best Asian tradition, this high-end designyness is tempered by the fact that all the funky stuff is mixed in with items that have bears on them saying overpoweringly cheesy things in English about love and friendship.

Perhaps the incident today that best summed Chatuchak up was standing next to a Singaporean man barking into a walkie-talkie, "Whaaat? You're in row 44? I'm in row 45a ... You tookarightturnsomewheredidyou? Okay, okay, lah, I will come and find you!" Further up the aisle, a blonde woman bent double under the weight of one of those enormous stripey Chinese hold-alls (filled with heavy treasure of some description) had hooked the handles around her shoulders and was attempting to shift the damn stuff like she was wearing a backpack.

It's madness alright, but it's addictive stuff.