Behold the sons of Ulster marching on the Twelfth. Except it may not be the Twelfth much longer in Belfast. Moves are afoot to rebrand the city's big parade as the "Orangefest". This would be a new, touchy-feely version, Ulster's answer to Mardi Gras in New Orleans.
Northern Ireland Office Minister David Hanson even made a grant of £104,000 (€150,000) available to the County Grand Lodge of Belfast to turn the Orange Order's image around.
Don't knock it. If it drains the wells of bigotry even a little bit and maybe saves the life of an innocent young Catholic or Protestant, the money will be well spent.
Compare the image and reality of London's Notting Hill Carnival now and in days of yore. For the moment, as we await the transformation of the Orangemen into proto-hippies, we must be content with knowing that the Belfast parade went off peacefully yesterday morning. There's still a bit of work to be done on the anti-sectarianism front.
Street vendors were doing a roaring trade and one could purchase a CD of Loud and Proud Bigotry Classics which featured a ditty called Burning Taigs (based on Elvis Presley's Burning Love):
The flames from this here bonfire,
Makes my blood rise higher,
You know my one desire, is Burning Taigs.
Unlike Notting Hill, "Orangefest" is all-white and virtually all-male. There are quasi-military undertones: this is a people on the march. The marchers' faces are set in a look of grim determination, just the kind of look their forefathers must have had when they marched off to their doom at the Somme.
But some of the uniforms would be too colourful for a Hollywood musical of the 1930s.
It's hard to imagine a big Orange drum at Mardi Gras. It's too loud and threatening, somewhere between a rifle-shot and a thunderclap. You couldn't imagine anyone in laid-back New Orleans working up the ferocity and passion to beat the drum in that ear-splitting, heart-stopping way the Orangemen do it.
The nearest thing to joy and exultation comes from the men and boys (some of them little more than toddlers) who lead the marching bands, tossing and twirling their baton with carefree abandon. Throw it up in the air, catch it, then roll it around your neck like a python - it must take years to develop the skills.
The older men are attired in traditional business suits and bowler hats; the younger ones are dressed like toy soldiers, or else wearing T-shirts to show off their muscles and tattoos. These are the scary ones: a group from Rathcoole is wearing red shirts and marching under the slogan: "The boys are back in town."
No wonder so many people get out of town on the "Twalfth". While Orange Lodges from Donegal and Monaghan were taking part yesterday, it is a sad reality that few residents of the Republic will ever see an Orange parade. They might be pleasantly surprised to recognise many of the tunes the flute bands are playing, although the words of the songs would be very different.
A Southern nationalist would easily recognise the familiar air of Take it down from the mast Irish traitors; It's the flag we republicans claim. It is a safe bet that any song an Orangeman sings to that air doesn't glorify republicans, although there might well be a reference to "traitors".
While due honour was paid to the 36th Ulster Division, which fought and died at the Somme, tribute was also paid to someone from the German side, albeit of a different generation.
Martin Luther featured on a number of banners, along with his famous dictum which chimes so well with Ulster loyalist psychology: "Here I stand; I can do no other."
The Duke of York also featured: not the "Randy Andy" of today's tabloids, but one of his predecessors.
Here's a depiction of Carson's statue outside Stormont. At one time it was a reassuring symbol that nothing would ever change, but it's time to get with the programme, Sir Edward: welcome to the Orangefest.