THE WHITE SILK dresses with their cascading flounces and frills are beginning to fill entire shop windows - mini bridal wear, complete with tiaras, headdresses, evening gloves, lace tights and sparkling white shoes inset with intricate patterns.
In the background there may be one or two "male" mannequins with flamboyant waistcoats setting off sombre mini suits. But, it's the little women who are the real stars of the show, eclipsing any boyish attempt at sartorial elegance.
As you would expect, the stuff of dreams comes with an equally impressive price tag. And it's not just a case of ornamenting the participants: I remember meeting another mother of a communicant to be last year, just before the big event, who avidly inquired as to whether I'd bought my outfit yet and what colour had I decided on.
I didn't like to upset her equilibrium and confess that no new outfit was going to grace any member of our family.
Another neighbour casually said that she had got new outfits for all the children, but had very little left for her own dress. Again, discretion was the better part of valour; I nodded sympathetically but divulged nothing of our own arrangements.
Our preparations had been somewhat cheaper. A few months previously, I had spotted a First Communion dress and veil at the back of a swap shop. The price tag asked for a modest £4. It seemed like a reasonable bargain - even if she would only wear the ensemble for a day. A spin in the washing machine (add another 50p to the price), a difficult session with the iron and it looked good as new.
On the day, my daughter flounced down the aisle, amidst a swirl of skirts, while the veils floated satisfying behind. Afterwards, it withstood the more serious onslaught of the celebration lunch - then it was time for the ceremonial visit to the zoo.
While the bats, reptiles and ring tailed lemurs received their due attention, it was the slides that seemed to draw the mini brides in hordes. Queues of frills lined up the ladders and slid down to land; on the mat or the mud, depending on the ferocity of the slider.
When sufficient sliding had been enjoyed, the little white figures, shod in delicate white footwear, enjoyed jumping in the sandpit to see if they could match the prowess of various animals painted on a wooden barrier. The wet sand gaily scratched and crunched off the white patent leather, forging indelible memories.
Next to the pets' corner, where the goats were happy to sample the silk and satin on offer, sucking it and tugging the material as the wearers wiggled to get free. A trip to the shop, some ice cream and squished chocolate, and the dresses had almost completed their ordeal. But don't forget the obligatory trip and fall as little girls and boys succumb to the over tiredness that results from over excitement and fell over their own feet in the absence of any other obstacle.
So, parents of communicants to be, don't say you haven't been warned in advance of the inevitable, inglorious fate of all that gorgeous finery.
