The typical Kiwi is...

When Justin Brown turned 36, he stumbled on the fact he had become the average age of a New Zealander.
With a wife, two children and a temperamental car, he suddenly became aware he'd become "average" in other ways too. And of all the things he had aspired to, being average was not one of them.
Armed with notebook and guitar, Brown set out to find more about the "average" Kiwi - and the "real" New Zealand where he or she lives.
His discoveries are revealed in Myth New Zealand and his collection of songs on the accompanying CD.
Along the way, Brown challenged fundamental beliefs like:
* Do we really have a No8 wire mentality - and if so, where do we use it apart from fences?
* Whatever happened to the "good keen man"?
* Where's the new generation of Burt Munros?
* Is this still a great place to bring up the kids?
* And if pavlova is the national dish, why can't you find it in restaurants?
Brown's determination to separate myth from reality reveals a hilarious and thought-provoking look at modern New Zealand.

Extract: Tough as old boots
My friend Olive Stoddard is 92 and goes to the gym every second day. When she was 8, she and the rest of the Bleakley family boarded the steamship Arawa in Ireland bound for New Zealand in 1926. Her father chose New Zealand because he was sick of the rain in Ireland.
I want to tell Olive's story because it's so easy to be dismissive of nostalgia. We often accuse oldies of whinging that the old days were a lot harder.
Well, guess what, they were.
When the Bleakleys arrived in Palmerston North, Olive's father's first wage was at Koputaroa, outside Levin and Shannon. In a dirty old house formerly inhabited by pigs, Olive's father got to work with a spade. Then he had to master milking machines, for in Ireland it had always been done by hand.
While stacking hay one day, a Maori fella who worked on the farm lay down and laughed. "The Pakeha - he does the work, the Maori he lie down and watch him."
As the Bleakleys knew not a soul, Olive's mother was stoked to receive a phone call from Mrs Kernahan, the lady next door. The offer was to get together to play 500.
"I don't think that we've got that number in our hymn book," she replied.
The floods came in 1926. In the days before bike helmets (and boy racers for that matter) Olive's mother used to stand on the bicycle while she sat on the seat.
Olive and her younger brother and sister used to rise early and eat fresh soda bread and scones. Then there were pigs and calves to feed. They went off to school with lunch wrapped in newspaper.
Speak to anyone from this era and there was no time to be a layabout. There were chickens to chase, eggs to find and firewood to collect.
Olive's father got to work planting potatoes. The Bleakley family lived on the milk and butter from the farm. Their diet consisted mainly of swedes, potatoes and cabbage. Unlike today, they never thought to eat raw food or salad. Every now and then they were allowed to kill a lamb and share it with the neighbours. No fridge, no inside toilet and a stove that had to be fed with wood. They drank milk straight from the cow. When an electric light finally did arrive it was cause for celebration.
"We wouldn't have to clean old lamps any more," remembers Olive. "No more kerosene in the house."
Sunday was the day of rest. After going to church, all Olive and her siblings were allowed to do was milk the cows, feed the pigs and calves, perhaps the dogs. Everybody, Dad included, stopped. Olive's mother wouldn't even let the kids sweep the floor, having peeled the potatoes and cleaned their shoes the day before.
These were the days when things lasted and if something did break there was always something with which to repair it. Olive and her siblings never wore sunscreen and never went to the doctor. Got a wiggly tooth? Sorted, said Mum, getting an iron out of the fire, wrapping it in a rag, sitting her daughter down and applying heat until the pain disappeared.
Sometimes her father would tie a string between the baby tooth and a door handle and then shut the door.
At 92, Olive still has all her teeth.
Decades later, Olive's husband walked out, leaving her with two boys, Paul, who was 20 months, and Anthony, who was 4. The year was 1954.
"In those days, there was no DPB," says Olive. "We were practically put out on the street. I honestly didn't know what we were going to do. Finally I called the Women's Division of Federated Farmers who arranged £8 a week for me. We packed our bags and got our first job in Marton on a farm with a man who couldn't get his crops in because his wife was paralysed from the waist down.
"As he was the main caregiver, I took it upon myself to clean the place from head to foot. We had 14 addresses before we could settle down properly."
The way in which Olive overcame obstacles became the way she remains today: stoic, no-nonsense and resolute. Her advice for solo parents in a similar situation today bears the same tone.
"I feel like telling a few of them they have been spoiled rotten. They often walk out on their husband or wife because they're supported by the government, instead of thinking for themselves and going out and getting some work.
"It's a rough road but you have to think for yourself. If I was young today I wouldn't look out for some other silly man to share their bed and collect the DPB.
"If it's one thing I've always tried to do, it's not to be a drag on the taxpayer."
Olive believes new generations have had it easy, particularly when it comes to home comforts. While we take satellite television for granted, and play the latest apps on our iPhones, Olive's contemporaries were pleased to have a flushing toilet.
The flush toilet was still comparatively new after World War II - so much so they were counted and included in the census. We finally stopped recording their presence in 1975.
Census statistics show items like "clothes washing machines" didn't show up till 1956. When Olive was a young woman, the census recorded the numbers of electric lights. Telephone or access to telecommunication systems warranted their own column in the census by 1966 as we tried to figure out how many households were fortunate enough to have a phone.
These days, one in six Kiwi children has an internet connection direct into their room.
Olive has seen 19 prime ministers come and go, as well as watching a nation undergo phenomenal social change in the relatively short time, historically speaking, she has been around.
When I ask her what she believes to be the biggest change in modern New Zealand, her eyes light up.
"There's not enough to do. Everything is done for you. You've got vacuum cleaners, fridges and dishwashers. It's such a lazy existence.
"A kettle you can switch on. You're spoiled rotten. We had to walk for miles and miles to go to school. We had no radios and only saw the newspaper once in a while. People today complain about the slightest thing. My mother was forever dead tired and never complained.
"Be grateful, thankful to be in New Zealand," she always told us.'

Myth New Zealand,
by Justin Brown, Hurricane Press, $40