THE crowds were six deep on the pavement, making ambulation difficult - apart from the jaikie in a hurry, squeezing through the crowd with his can of Tennent's Super hidden in a cardboard coffee cup.

Well if you want to disguise your need to drink very strong lager of an afternoon on Byres Road what better camouflage than a cup from a trendy, expensive coffee shop. Not for the first time I wonder why people who have no discernible need to be anywhere else, always seem to be in a rush.

But I'm distracted by the belly dancers. Lots of belly dancers. If ever there was a world shortage of white middle-aged women shimmying their torsos, then Glasgow is the place to head for. It's a tricky one this. Staring at women's undulating tummies seems a tad exploitative. But if the women themselves see it as an empowering way of having fun and exercising, then who are we to disagree.

Then come people in flower-pot hats blowing plastic whistles. Even for Glasgow's west end, this seemed unusual for a Sunday afternoon. So as you may have guessed, this was the West End Festival's Mardi Gras Parade when Byres Road is closed to traffic, bands play, dancers strut their stuff, and the bars are busier than ever.

Vantage points are tricky. The more nimble climb atop these large industrial bins that the city council thoughtfully pepper our streets with. Others use the car park above Waitrose which makes it one of the few occasions people visit the up-market supermarket and leave without wondering how they managed to spend a week's wages on just a few items.

Down below another brass band passes. Samba bands of course. Not the sort of bands that practice down the road at the Orange Hall in Partick. Although there are folk in bowler hats. They are members of the Absurdist Pipe Band. There are only two pipers in the band, so either a few folk called off, or only having two pipers is a way of showing how absurd they are.

There are now women dressed as bumble bees. One lad with them is wearing a tutu. Surely Byres Road is one of the few city thoroughfares where a young chap can wear a tutu without fear of opprobrium. Then comes a young lad carrying a rainbow-coloured flag with "Peace" written on it. He is particularly glum-looking behind his dark sunglasses. Perhaps his mother dragooned him into flag-carrying when he would rather be playing his computer games. Another banner says "Bairns Not Bombs", although I didn't know you had a choice. This was part of a group from CND who perhaps had sneaked in, as the connection between Fat Tuesday and nuclear disarmament is not an obvious one. Sneaking in with them is someone from local restaurant Di Maggio's who has a sign saying "Give Pizza Chance."

In fact I like the community feel of the parade. It has not been taken over by slicker, bought-in performers. Its very home-made air is something to be celebrated.

Needing a break however from samba rhythms and fleshy body-parts I head up to Ashton Lane where the crowds around the bars seem almost as dense as those a few yards away on Byres Road. Outside one bar a stout chap with a beard is studiously ignoring the carnival atmosphere by reading a science fiction novel by Charlie Stross. It might even have been Charlie Stross as the book's flyleaf shows Charlie is indeed hirsute and rotund. That's very west end to pretend to ignore what is going on about you.

I text a few west end pals to find out where they are. One replies crisply: "I am having coffee in Hyndland and avoiding Byres Road at all costs." You see this is another west end tradition. It is the done thing to argue after 20 years of the West End Festival that you find it all a bit passé - that your favourite cafes and bars have been invaded by people from elsewhere. It is a bit challenging I have to admit. The beer garden I have taken shelter in has been invaded by small children running around blowing in the plastic whistles similar to the ones the samba bands were using in a more melodious fashion. It's like drinking in a demented aviary that is being attacked by a cat.

Young women are now in the bar, and either the face painting stall has become remarkably sophisticated or the young women are already war-painted up for a good night out even though it is still only the afternoon. It is true that once the parade has gone by, and cars once again choke Byres Road, that students and other twenty-somethings turn the day into a real Mardi Gras of unfettered drinking, telling tall tales, and pursuing the opposite sex.

But back to the parade. As Liz Scobie, chairman of the Festival's board of directors tells me, it is still very much a community-based event with local groups working on costumes throughout the year. After 20 years there is still a growing appetite for the West End Festival. "People want to let their hair down and have a good time," she says.

"It is a family event in a trouble-free atmosphere. You can see that it is almost a day off for the police who are going around high-fiving the youngsters. And we are fortunate that so many people are willing to volunteer as stewards and so on to make it a success. Perhaps it's a legacy of the Commonwealth Games that so many people want to volunteer. 'People Make Glasgow' is the slogan the council uses. People certainly make the West End Festival as well."

Leaving Ashton Lane I notice that the Ubiquitous Chip bar has written on its wall: "The best thing about memories is making them." It's clear that many people see the West End Festival as a colourful way of doing just that.