what have we here?

I’m in a particularly good mood at the moment.

I shouldn’t really be – nothing hugely insane has happened in the areas of my life that would really count – except for the fact that I need to sort out my muffintops before I get into bikini – how God, how?– and.

I received possibly the most adequately perfect gift yesterday.
Emblazoned, mind you, with that one unmistakable word:
Diemersfontein

A font orgasm, right before my eyes.

I’ve never got a gift from a company before on the basis that I was voluntarily writing about them and not expecting anything in return.

Except for First For Women and MTN. And in return I wanted justice.

I didn’t expect anything from Diemersfontein, except to just ensure it doesn’t run out of stock at the Bryanston Woollies. Because then I’d freak out.

Otherwise I talk about Diemersfontein here because I honestly and truly believe it has changed my ways.

On what I decide to consume. It’s realising that quality is really all what it’s cracked up to be, on the subject of fermented grapes. And all other things, frankly.

It’s all velvety and chocolatey, and pinotagey and it warms my cockles in winter, and I will never turn back.

I was trying to explain the phenomenon that is Diemersfontein Pinotage to a guy in Turkey. He knew we were South African, so presented us with the best wine he had, on his tab.
Hoping, I suspect, to prove that the rumours - of South Africa having some of the top wines on the planet - wrong.

Bless him for caring so much.

‘This,’ he said pointing to the sadly pitiful bottle of rouge, ‘Is the best wine in Turkey. You must try and tell me if your wine is better,’ he said earnestly.

I’m no wine snob, I haven’t the first clue about the stuff. All it has to do is taste good, not make me blind, and not taste like Tassies tainted with lemon, or be Autumn Harvest Crackling.

Ant’s done a whole bunch of wine courses, and had manuals and textbooks - textbooks on the stuff strewn about our old flat.

Seriously? For wine?

But after the first sip of Diemers, something changed in me. Diemers was some good shit. And it was actually quality.

The poor Turkish guy stared at my reaction earnestly, bobbing his head saying, ‘So? So? Is it better than your wine?’

‘It is…much better than the glass I had yesterday.’

Was about as much as I could muster with honesty without hurting his feelings.

So yes, it’s only right I talk about the mother’s milk fresh out of Wellington, whether they send me cases or not.
But what a pleasure – what an utter pleasure – it feels like I just got a Frequent Flyer card and I’ve cashed in my miles for a free flight to Hawaii.

I now have six bottles, sent to me by the crew.

Thanks guys. Wow. Not one drop will go to waste, that I can guarentee. Not like when the bloody security guards threw your bottles into a quarantined bin, when I tried to smuggle them over customs.

It’s time for another dinner party. It’s definitely a sign.

PS: Dontcha hate when you have a dream where you buy kick ass shoes and then wake up and they're not there?