Robyn Hobson

The other night I ended up at the Dubliner (cool spot with cool band) on Long Street with two of my girlfriends. Like everywhere else in Cape Town, World Cup 2010 fever has hit Long Street with a furious passion and brought with it a host of intriguing visitors and strangely placed soccer balls.

So it’s around 10.30pm. We’re 3 girls sitting alone at a table, mid-way through a deep conversation about why some Men should have stayed on Mars when Mr England approaches.

Now we don’t want to be rude: MTN, Telkom and Mr Z keep telling us not to be. We’re playing host to the world after all.

Mr England:

He sat down under the guise of needing relationship advice for his poor friend that he was very worried about. We fell hook, line and sinker and gave him the advice within 15 mins. 1 hour and 30 mins later he was still chatting to us. Mr England moaned about local transport, Clique-y Cape Town and everything being so far away. Still smarting from our loss in the T20WC I briefly got chatting about cricket but eventually Mr England went home.

Mr New Zealand:

He sidled up to our table in a cool, sort of mysterious way, in a suave sort of trench coat. He sat down and asked if he could sit here whilst he hid from several people. We asked him to elaborate and he replied with… yeah you know how it gets.  A few minutes later, he left. International Kiwi of Mystery that one.

Mr Brazil:

He came up to me whilst my two friends were at the bar. Hallo he said. I Brazil . You alone ?  Hope Cape Town girls aren’t holding out for the stellar conversation skills of Brazilian guys… they may be disappointed.

Team America:

These guys were cute, in that little kid whose cheeks you want to pinch kind of way. 18 and 22 and from North Carolina ans Texas respectively. They shuffled up to our table and asked if they could sit there. Apparently the last table of girls had told them to F off. They marvelled at our cheap cabs, how we said water and the garden route.

Like most Americans in Cape Town, they were volunteering here, to help save Africa. They had certainly kept the Dubliner out of the red.

Mr Netherlands:

He danced through the doors. Hugged me . Happily shouted a lot of things in Dutch and then grooved onto the dance floor and we never saw him again.

Mr Russia:

We met Mr Russia outside. He sat down at our table, asked my friend her name and then proceeded to whisper sweet, Russian nothings to her across the table. Mid woo he was interrupted by a lady behind him. He turned round to her, put his arm around her, turned back to us, grinned and said in the Smirnoff voice ” This is my ladiezzz.”  His Ladiezzz took Mr Russia away.

Mr Venezuela:

I never got to speak to him but I did see him. We all know Venezuela is famed for it’s Beauty Pageant Queens… but the world has clearly been overlooking Venezuela’s share of equally gorgeous guys. Some of whom happen to be in the Mother City.. in burger joints on Long Street.

My vote goes to Mr New Zealand. Just for being completely random and wearing a very hot coat.

It was hysterically surreal meeting all the real-life versions of the flags that are currently strung up around every store. There are some complete oddballs on our shores at the moment

So get to Long Street, be a good host and trust me you’ll be entertained by a crazy, cosmopolitan cast !