It’s a Tuesday in August. We’ve rented a cottage on a smallholding in the Magaliesberg, a few kilometres shy of the Gauteng-North West border. Sitting on the veranda and shifting our gaze between our books and the silhouettes of mountains is, my wife and I concur, as close to bliss as a person can reasonably expect in the miserable year that is 2020.  

But the chickens and the horses have been fed; the tyres on the kids’ bikes are covered in dubbeltjie thorns after hours of riding to and fro. An outing is needed. Lunch beckons.

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