27 Feb 2013 Whew.   What a beer festival.    What a hangover.   Well, actually, about three and half-thousand of them to be precise.    And a budget speech to follow; what rotten luck.   By the way, there are only 184 shopping days to Christmas, but of more immediate import to the little village of Clarens, is Easter.   That particular weekend is, as of today, only 29 days away.   So the big question is, what does Clarens plan to do about it, apart from emptying the pockets of countless visitors  – or FTs, as they are fondly known elsewhere in this shrinking world of ours. For those readers with enquiring minds (yes, both of you!) Easter was known in ‘Old English’ as Eostre, or amongst the Eastern Orthodox as Pasch… Odd names but they all mean that Easter is a Christian festival celebrating the resurrection of Christ on the third day after his crucifixion at Calvery. By a process of shrewd deduction, you will by now have realised that Easter – apart from being the busiest Sunday in church’s calendar – is also the end of something called Lent, an oddly-named forty-day period of  fasting, prayer, and penance.   Which suggests that the Clarens beer festival was more or less the start of Lent, which makes you think, does it not?    So, assuming that the village’s churches will be doing bumper business on Easter Sunday, what will be happening on the other days of this bumper weekend?? It goes without saying that a great deal of alcohol and food will be channelled down visiting gullets, and that countless daredevils will be consigned down the Ash River on large bits of inflated rubber.   Some will listen rapturously to local music while others will join the growing throng beating the bushes with pitchforks in search of our ownKaalvoet.   A number will buy art works, great and small, or books, while others less well-endowed with the capacity to make unaided decisions may go quad-bike riding.   They will certainly screw up our prospects for parking in this fair community, and may even drink the village dry.   Many, at least of those of heterosexual persuasion, may be making fumbling attempts at reproduction, depending on their consumption of Tequila shots and beer snorters.   All in all, it will be much like other weekends but much more so.   Much more so. Which brings me neatly to the subject of our feathered friends and their role in this weekend celebration.   First, the duck community have organised a fly-over: While it has to be admitted that this is less about precision formation flying than dumping on the heads of our visitors, this should make Saturday a highlight to be remembered.   Come Easter Sunday, the combined flocks of Guinea Fowl have agreed to do a synchronised march-past at the DRC, depending on whether or not they can all find the place, or, for that matter, find one-another.    Three Bostrychia hagedash (hadidas, you ignoramuses!) have volunteered to do some cricket catching on the Square, while a lone Grey Heron will sit atop the monument for the entire weekend and attempt to turn it white.   The Mynas, naturally, wanted to do everything, at once, but have been barred on account of their illegal immigration status and lack of work permits. For my part, I shall be driving round and round the Square looking for parking until, at last, I find one.    At about four-fifteen in the morning.   On Tuesday; after Easter.