Along with Dricus’ favourite wines, you also get a Buffelsfontein treat. Buffelsfontein Brannewyn is a patch for pain, a cold cloth on a feverish forehead and grandmother’s leg of lamb in the oven.
It relieves the pain of a love letter that remains unanswered and expensive diesel.
It’s raining on a corrugated iron roof, the smell of gunpowder from a bolt-action and a land full of maize plants breaking evenly through the ground. It’s comfortable “vellies”, yellow-fat-biltong and swimming in December.
