Kevin Page: Me, the sport stars and a lift ride

What has been interesting is the evolutionary change of our group. We all seemed to be sharing the latest photos of our grandchildren a lot. Photo / Getty Images

Around this time each year, I go away for a brief holiday with some business associates.

Well, I'm sort of tinkering with the truth there. If my business were golf then it would be true. They would be golf associates.

I like to think of it as a "wellness retreat" for golfers with pot bellies. I mean why not? There seems to be a wellness focus for every group these days. And we certainly look after our bellies.

This year was no exception. It was in fact my 21st year away with these guys.

Over the years the group has changed somewhat. We have had new guys come in and others move on but in the main we've retained a reasonably strong core of golfing/socialising activities like going to, er, shall we say museums and art galleries, preferably one where you can get a good pint at everyday prices. Ahem.

What has been interesting is the evolutionary change of our group.

Twenty-odd years ago it would be fair to say the female form in all its glory was hugely appreciated. And yes, I am embarrassed to admit that.

These days while that appreciation still exists - and I'm sure it's reciprocated judging by the stares we get, or maybe those are stares of disbelief? - we are more likely to sit around discussing various medical ailments etc, the prostate ranking highly among the subjects this year

I also noticed we all seemed to be sharing the latest photos of our grandchildren a lot. How times have changed.

A strange coincidence about going away at this time of year is that we tend to find ourselves sharing our hotel accommodation with different sports teams.

A few years back I recall a particularly brilliant, brilliant night with a couple of international rugby league stars, both of whom were amazed by the air guitar skills of one of our number and, if my memory serves me correctly, joined him in an air guitar trio that brought the house down.

Last year we shared digs with the New Zealand women's rugby team on a training camp. Breakfast in the shared dining room was a joy as both sides swapped stories of their exploits of the previous day.

Aah, it's hard living the life of a professional athlete.

So, this year we shared breakfast with some cricketers. It would be fair to say there was a fair bit of gobsmackedness from the numerous kids in the lobby each day.

I'm pretty sure it was the smart and colourful polo shirts our band of golfers wore, although I suppose it could have been the smattering of top New Zealand stars among the other lot.

Anyway.

There we were, my roommate and I, in our hotel room one morning and we decide coffee is needed. Good coffee. Not the kind you can get from a sachet in your room.

And we need it because we'd had too much museum and art gallery the night before.

I am younger by about five weeks so I drew the short straw and had to go fetch.

Now if you've not stayed in a hotel during this Covid crisis, there are some things you need to know.

Mask wearing, signing in and out and all those other things are rigidly enforced and so as I left the room I had to make sure I had my mask on, my wallet in my pocket, my phone open with my vaccine pass on display, and the card key thing for the room and the elevator somewhere on my person.

All went well as I got the coffees, one in each hand, came back to the hotel and got in the elevator.

I put them on the floor as I pulled the card that works the elevator from my pocket and swiped it.

The doors were just about to shut when two cricketers walked in and pressed the button for their floor.

By this time I'd picked up my coffees and was standing there staring at the floor indicator. As we all do.

Unfortunately, we went down instead of up and this time a family with two young boys got in.

The look on their faces as they worked out who their lift-mates were was priceless – top international cricketer 1 and top international cricketer 2 ... and some bald, fat guy in a loud polo shirt holding two coffees.

They must have been a bit flustered because they pushed the wrong button – after the mandatory squabble about whose turn it was to push it – and so we went up past my floor.

This time when the door opened another cricketer got in. A top women's international.

The boys practically wet themselves with excitement while the cricketers stared at the floor indicator and tried to pretend they hadn't noticed.

I won't bore you with all the ups and downs of our ride. (Oh I just got that! ) But there were a lot and it seemed to take ages. I needed floor three, the cricketers two and mum, dad and kids needed the lobby.

Eventually, our crazy caravan worked its way through every floor, disgorging passengers as it went until wearily I made it back to the door of my room and went through the card process again to get in: coffee on the floor, swipe the card, open the door, keep it open with one foot, pick up the coffee and slide through.

By this time my roommate was up. He'd done his 1500 sit-ups and was gagging for a caffeine infusion.

When he got his cup he nearly spat the contents across the room.

"It's tea!!," he squealed. "And it's nearly cold."

Groan. The coffee shop had given me the wrong order.

I knew I'd have to go back. We had a big day of golf, museums and art galleries planned and couldn't possibly start the day without coffee.

But I wasn't going to get caught stuck in that elevator again.

This time I'd be taking the stairs.