"Right now," he elucidated, oblivious to the mopping of spilt coffee, "there is considerable debate about whether it should be Athlone or Khayelitsha whose stadium is chosen for the Soccer World Cup venue in 2010. At the end of the day it will just quietly settle on Newlands!"
Public transport to Khayelitsha consisted of a broken train line and a swarm of decrepit taxis. Public transport to Athlone was rather better, though the stadium was a walk across a deadly intersection from the closest train station. Public transport to Newlands was, well... not that big an issue, really. Most of the patrons of Newlands used their cars. Parking was far much more of a problem, and a source of income for local schools hiring out their sportsfields. The rugby and cricket stadia straddled the railway line, right at the station, for anyone foolhardy enough to believe that trains actually ran on that line when they needed them, and the Mowbray-Claremont-WYNberg! taxis trundled up and down the Main Road mere metres away.
There were plenty of pubs for warming up before and celebrating after. Plenty of trees for when the queues at the ablution facilities were too long. Quiet streets with high walls to amplify the drunken singing. A river, for some quick nookie. All in all, it seemed like a pretty sensible idea.
Except...
It was *Newlands*. Newlands is not merely a class-in-itself, it is a class-for-itself. And, as such, it is completely hostile to the class interests of the soccer-viewing classes. (Newlands may occasionally tune in on satellite to watch the English Premiership, because that is about business interests rather than sport. Soccer represents, to them, a less evolved form of what became rugby, much like a chimpanzee that evolved from a common ancestor with humankind. Rugby they'll allow into their consciousness, but the real sport that Newlands watches, is cricket.)
And so, the private security companies that patrol the leafy streets will quietly swop their bicycles for casspirs, their side-arms for RPG7s, their rottweilers for urukhai. People seeking to cross the invisible borders will need to show their invisible passports - accent and school affiliation. Infiltration will be impossible.
But Carnivorous Cow's concerns were rather more specific. Cape Town gridlocked routinely on the first day of school; however would anyone *get* anywhere? And, for those who lived on the other side of Newlands to Campus... would they have to camp in their offices for the duration? Telecommute?
"I suppose," she sighed fatalistically, "it's one way to reduce cars on Campus. Do you suppose those Planning people might have a finger in this...?"