ENOUGH tulle to choke a herd of elephants, more sequins than Broadway & Beyonce night at a drag queen convention and more bare flesh than the queue for Sin-Derella’s nightclub in Tyneside on a Saturday night.

No, not Dancing on Ice (Sunday, ITV1, 6.35pm), though it was a strong contender, but the eye-poppingly wonderful Big Fat Gypsy Weddings: Born To Wed (Tuesday, C4, 9pm), where my mouth really did drop open in disbelief more than once.

Having previously caught Channel 4’s original, one-off film called My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding, I assumed this new series would be thin on content, let alone surprises, but it packed a punch harder than that of a travelling boy during a traditional Romany courtship ritual.

Which includes the curious custom, ‘grabbing’, in which a lad, on spotting a girl he likes the look of (she could be a complete stranger) at a gypsy gathering, grabs her, whether she likes it or not, and, on a good day, demands a kiss, on a bad day, forces her to snog him using violence.

The girls, many of whom leave school at 11 in order to look after younger siblings, clean the family home and pamper the menfolk, thus preparing for the only things they are born for – their wedding day and married life –accept this with a resigned shrug, a few tears, oh and the odd bit of bruising.

Ah, the romance of the travelling lifestyle, eh?

In fact, teenager Josie, who we followed as she prepared for her big day, left school at 11 and now can’t wait to marry Swanley, a pleasant lump who says of his wife-to-be: “She’s a good cook an’ she tidies up quite well throughout the day, so that’s a good sign.”

Not for Josie, mate.

There were other priceless characters; teen sisters Cheyenne and Montana, whose hobby was make-up and buying expensive dresses to wear to weddings.

While shopping, Cheyenne spotted a potential frock, then changed her mind when she noticed it had a print of Audrey Hepburn’s face on it.

“If it didn’t have that picture, I’d buy that,” she announced.

“Who is she anyway? If it was a picture of myself on there, I’d definitely buy it.”

As in most cultures, when it comes to the mid-teens, the girls tend to look like young women and the boys tend to look like enormous toddlers.

But these differences seem more exaggerated in the gypsy community, probably because the uniform of your average travelling girl comprises hugely provocative outfits with bum and boobs hanging out a la Christine Aguilera, and more slap than, well, that drag queen convention I mentioned earlier. This time on Marilyn Monroe night.

While the lads are all scrubbed moon faces, with, at a push, a bit bum-fluff on their chubby chins who lollop about in shapeless romper suits (OK hoodies and trackie bottoms) wider than the beer tents at the Great Dorset Steam Fair.

In fact, the ludicrous weddings, where a fortune is spent on the bridal dress and about 17p on the rest, including the reception, were the least of this first episode.

There was plenty of stuff about the extravagance of the gowns – massive, hideous puffball confections that weigh so much they cause serious scarring, something your traveler bride wears with pride.

And which puts a whole new slant on a familiar old verse.

Something old (granny’s lucky hoop earrings), something new (the scars), something borrowed (some cream for the scars) and something blue (the bruise from ‘grabbing’).

But what kept this tale of horse-traders and child brides fresh was that, with what appeared to be unlimited access into the travelling community, it delved into other aspects of their lives that were equally fascinating.

Best of all were the preparations for brother and sister Margarita and John Boy’s First Holy Communion, the catholic ceremony where children receive the Holy Eucharist or communion bread for the first time.

Traditionally the boys wear smart trousers and shirts, but the girls get to dress up in white dresses and veils. The veil symbolises the tablecloth used at the Last Supper and the dress symbolises the robes that Jesus wore.

Enter, stage left, well, from a stretch limo after a few glasses of ‘fake’ champagne’ actually, seven-year-old Margerita in a dress made from 500 metres of pink chiffon, encrusted with 5,000 crystals and weighing in at twice her own body weight. With matching frilly parasol.

A look, we were told by the dead-pan voiceover lady, inspired by the Eddie Murphy movie, Coming To America.

Me, presumably the entire viewing nation and Margarita’s fellow communicants, sweet in their simple high-street frocks, could only stare in disbelief as what appeared a huge, pink industrial soap-suds leak laboured up the aisle of the church. Can’t wait to see her wedding gown.