This is not Ben.

YOU don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone.

I’m quietly contemplating sitting through a four-hour drive surrounded by oestrogen and Impulse.

Talk of how hot rockers and rugby players are is not my idea of a perfect road trip, nor is having the person in the back seat wailing James Blunt into my ear drums.

We’re heading up to the Sir Edmund Hillary Outdoor Pursuits Centre (OPC), “we” being me and two female colleagues from the journalism school.

It’s going to be a week away in the wilds of Tongariro National Park, reporting on what happens when bunches of young people pursue, well, outdoor pursuits.

As the week progresses and men start to flood the centre with testosterone, I find myself longing for cries of “You’re Beautiful”.

A group of girls from Singapore was supposed to be waiting for me at OPC. I was to be writing a story about them – and 45 testosterone-filled 18- and 19-year-old rugby players.

The rugby team is the main focus, so we follow the group around as they raft, kayak, tramp…and take off their tops.

It’s fair to say, I’m stoked.

To make things worse, when I ask about the Singaporeans, I’m politely told they’ve already gone home – and have been replaced with a group of young lads from the same country.

So here’s the gender ratio: 45 male rugby players, five male members of the coaching staff, 40 energetic Singaporean boys, four male OPC instructors. And eight females.

All I can say is it’s a blessing when guys can sit at home and watch women’s tennis on the telly, see short skirts and high heels, try to dodge the lingerie section of Farmers, or get a whiff of some classy perfume.

Without all that – when there are more men hanging around than you’d find at the lawnmower racing – you just feel empty.

I no longer hate the smell of Impulse deodorant.

NOTE: Ben is an 19-year-old male.