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Jeremy Clarke had not had sex for six years until he met some Australian apple growers in New Zealand

By Jeremy Clarke   June 1998

Last summer, I went white-water rafting on the Shotover river in New Zealand. The river was depressingly low: a pedalo on the Serpentine would have been more hazardous. Trussed up in wet suits, life-jackets and crash-helmets, with paddles at the ready, eight of us drifted placidly downstream through cold, sunless gorges. To alleviate our boredom between so-called rapids, my paddling partner and I got chatting.

Jim grew apples in Australia. Ostensibly, he was on a fact-finding tour of New Zealand fruit farms with a party of other Australian apple growers. But in reality, said Jim, these annual apple growers’ fact-finding…

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