When we first met, it was a night of Secateurs, single-handed, electric, charismatic. Meeting you felt like whole-bunch pressed grapes, it was the whole thing. It was like Chenin Blanc, made in the Swartland, grown on wild bushvines. Over Napolitano pizza, and a glass of Adie Badenhorst’s Secateurs Chenin Blanc, we laughed like old friends, wildly and openly. I was already fascinated by your stories, as though I had walked those roads with you for decades.