...or 'Mardi Gras' - as it is often known in more exotic climes - is upon us once more. All fatty food - the eggs, the butter, the cheese, the favourite marmalade [Frank Cooper's Vintage if you're asking] etc., etc., - to be consumed in one great, multi-layered feast, leaving the stomach somewhat bloated and the larder reduced to bare essentials.
Not of course how it tends to happen in practice, though pancakes are a reasonable symbolic offering in compensation.
Also of course Carnival Day. Could never understand why London should think August is the time for carnival - completely unliturgical!
And why 'carnival' today? Carne valle - 'farewell meat' of course! Not that one tends to do that either in total. (Whisper it not in Babylon, but even my old monastery did not dispense entirely with meat for the whole season!)
Faced with forty days of fasting I have to own that one wishes one could be like the lion and gorge oneself sufficient to last the time through. But sadly humans are not built that way. And more sadly, this particular human has a dodgy tummy [enough information] today and will therefore, perforce, be anticipating the fast by one day.
Nothing like a bit of practice before the off!
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