Kevin Page: Anyone got a dolphin to lift my spirits

There are a few simple pleasures in life. A walk in the sun/ rain/ snow (depending on your level of meteorological interest), a nice glass of wine/ beer (depending on your credit card limit), or bringing 10 strangers home from the pub on a whim to watch the footy (depending on whether your significant other packs a mean left hook or not).

There are also some bucket list type things people want to do before they depart this mortal earth, such as drive carefree through Paris in an open-topped sports car with the wind blowing through their hair (I've done it in an open-top bus and it was freezing), or visit a Tibetan monastery and meditate (save your money - have a good, hard think about nothing on the bus on your way to work, it's the same thing).

Then there's the old favourite - swimming with dolphins.

Ironically, I have a daughter heading for a swim with Flipper as I write. She's off to Monkey Mia on Australia's west coast, where the dolphins opt to come close in and give us silly humans some uplifting and emotional contact.

Anyway, I don't need dolphins. I get the same uplifting, satisfying pleasure from a long drive, with a good coffee and good sounds on the CD player.

I was thinking thus deeply (you see, who needs to go to Tibet?) as I sped up the Mamakus last week on the start of a trip to Auckland for a course.

To be honest, the sound coming from the CD wasn't my preferred option. It was preparatory stuff for the course and consisted of a soothing American voice humming the virtues of goal-setting and leadership. I turned up for my course (a good one) in downtown Auckland several hours later in a daze.

Now fast-forward two days and the course is over but I'm even worse.

I'm ambling through the CBD, basically a brainwashed shell of my former self, crammed to the brim with energising facts, figures and examples of success.

On the way to get the car, I stand at the pedestrian crossing with the entire population of a small Asian country and the sign tells me to wait.

"He who waits is going to miss the boat," I hear a voice say loudly, before realising it was me, still in course mode.

I had inched into the rush-hour traffic jam, window down and hoping fresh air would help clear my mind, when a carload of, er, young gentlemen pulled up alongside.

The doof, doof beat from the vehicle rebounded off the walls of the high-rise buildings and shook my fillings.

I had been woken from my fug in the most unceremonious of ways but a simple indignant stare across the two metres of space between us would neither satisfy me nor force them to stop, I deduced.

Fighting fire with fire was called for.

I grabbed a CD, stuck it in and turned the CD on full bore.

Now there is some music which would have got the message across.

Maybe a bit of full-on heavy metal rock or one of those gangster rap numbers with more expletives in it than your average schoolyard.

Unfortunately, I must have left those CDs at the last church meeting I attended.

So I grabbed the first one I could lay my hands out without taking my eye off the car next to me.

YMCA by the gay 70s icons Village People blared out across downtown Auckland.

The car next to me erupted in fits of laughter. As I struggled to get the CD out, a gap opened in the traffic jam and we all had to go for it. The Village People entertained for another 100m before I could get a hand off the wheel and get the CD out.

Beaten, I slowly headed home.

I was tired of driving. Even a decent cup of coffee eluded me and you can forget me trying the CD again.

I am in need of uplifting and emotional contact.

Wonder if anybody in Rotorua has a pet dolphin?