ROME LETTER: It is a chilly February evening in a packed Piazza Stesicoro, in the heart of Catania, Sicily. Bunches of balloons straining on their ropes, and stalls laden with an intriguing variety of sweetmeats and nuts, would suggest that this is carnival season, Sicilian style, writes Paddy Agnew
Yet, the presence of thousands of young men (and some young women) dressed in white, full-length sacks, complete with white rope around the waist, white gloves and black velvet beret, give the game away.
Lest you do not understand, this is a religious festival, held to honour the city's patron, Sant'Agata (Agatha).
The honoured lady in question, allegedly martyred in 251 because she refused to yield her virginity to the advances of the local Roman consul, sits fair and adorned in the middle of the square on a sumptuous baroque-style silver carriage, lined with red velvet and adorned with flowers and candles.
In front of the carriage and stretching up the "climb of the Cappuccini" as far as the eye can see are hundreds and hundreds of the cittadini, (literally citizens, as the surplice-bedecked youth are called).
Attached to two huge shafts in front of Sant'Agata's carriage are two ropes, each about 150 yards long and travelling all the way up the climb in the hands of the cittadini.
On the carriage, the metropolitan Archbishop of Catania, Mgr Salvatore Gristina, is recalling everything Agata has done for the city (she allegedly has saved Catania from volcanic eruptions, earthquakes and epidemics on numerous occasions).
Nobody is really listening too closely, though. Everyone is anxious for him to get it over with so that they can move on to the fireworks - and then, most importantly of all, the "climb of the Cappuccini".
The archbishop finally concludes and the fireworks ring out, making a distinctly pagan racket. Then the excitement really begins. The main man on Agata's carriage rings a little bell, shouting and gesticulating at the cittadini in front and behind him.
Finally, all is set fair and, as if by magic, around 2,000 carriage-pullers heave at the same moment and Sant'Agata is up and away at a speed you never would have imagined.
Indeed, the pace is too much, as a cittadino loses his footing and goes down awkwardly, risking a fate similar to jockeys whose horses fall in front of the field at the first fence in the Grand National.
The cavalcade moves on and the ambulance people move in, hauling the unfortunate cittadino off to hospital for a head scan. (He is later dismissed, having suffered no serious injury).
At the top of the hill, in front of the Church of San Domenico, the carriage comes to an abrupt halt, blocked by the thronging crowd. Children are passed to the front of the crowd so that they can touch the saint. Huge candles (in theory the candle has to be as tall as yourself), white carnations and white handkerchiefs are all offered up to the saint.
The number of devotees and the abundance of their offerings means that this stop lasts for more than an hour, like nearly all of the numerous other stops that Sant'Agata makes over the two days when she escapes from the cathedral for all-night outings around the centre of Catania.
When the time to move on eventually comes, the two lines of cittadini are forced to do a complex, half-hour long about-turn in order for "herself" to go round the bend and head off in another direction. As the cittadini march by, many of them shout out traditional chants, of which the most printable is "Tutti devoti, tutti cittadini".
As the cittadini wait for the next communal effort, they alternatively pull water bottles, cigarettes or mobile phones from under their white cassocks, in a reminder that not all the participants are utterly and humbly devout.
In reality, not everyone agrees about the origins of the cittadino garb.
Some say it dates back to pre-Christian times, whilst others claim it is based on the night-time clothes originally worn by the people of Catania when welcoming crusader knights back to the island in the 12th century.
This weary observer opts to take refuge in the sweet-stalls, where one splendid speciality, looking for all the world like a nipple on a breast (containing sweet rice and cherries), simply has to be tried. This is Sant'Agata's Bun - a reminder that, during torture by the Roman consul, her breasts were cut off.
Legend claims that Sant'Agata's wounds miraculously healed. Your reporter can assure you that the cakes baked in memory of that gruesome event taste splendid.
Nearby, a reporter for a local TV station is delighted to have found a black US soldier, stationed at the nearby US base of Signonella.
In broken English, he asks the GI if he has ever seen anything like it in his life: "Oh yeah, we have Saint Patrick's Day back home," comes the reply.
Celebrations for Saint Patrick's Day must have changed a lot since I was a boy.