First test for marine heatwaves forecasts
He’s hot property in Hollywood and is a dab hand at humour and horror, but, writes Michelle Duff, Jemaine Clement just wants to be normal.
NEW Zealand marine heatwave forecasts that have just become publicly available are about to have an important early test.
The forecasts are predicting a strong marine heatwave to start this weekend in the waters around the Chatham Islands.
How that heatwave developed would be a test case for the system, said Dr Robert Smith, a lecturer in the Department of Marine Science at the University of Otago.
The development of the forecasts is part of the $11.5 million five-year Moana Project, backed by the Ministry of Business, Innovation and Employment’s Endeavour Fund.
The aim of the project is to provide fundamental knowledge to help protect and manage New Zealand’s vast exclusive economic zone.
The seas around the country were warming at an unprecedented rate, which made marine heatwaves more likely, said Smith, who is overseeing the marine heatwave research.
Globally, they were becoming more frequent, longer-lasting and more intense, and could have severe effects on ecosystems and marine industries.
‘‘Marine life around New Zealand has evolved to thrive in cooler waters,’’ Smith said.
‘‘We know from high impact marine heatwaves in the past few years around New Zealand, they can have devastating effects on
local ecosystems.
‘‘They pose a substantial threat to fishing and aquaculture.
‘‘By forecasting marine heatwaves we hope to provide warning to important ocean industries and coastal communities, and that would enable a range of management actions.’’
For example, that might mean aquaculture operations harvesting early, or relocating stock to facilities where the water was expected to be cooler,
Smith said.
If aquaculture operations in the Marlborough Sounds were given a warning of likely heatwaves developing, ‘‘they can potentially relocate stock from some of the sheltered parts of the sounds, which are more likely to become
extremely warm, to somewhere like Tory Channel, where you have much stronger mixing every day’’.
Forecasting marine heatwaves could also indicate an increased likelihood of algal blooms, and it was possible the heatwaves could cause wild fish stocks to relocate.
The site also has graphs for 10 areas around the country, showing sea surface temperatures in recent weeks, and what they’re expected to do in the next week.
The areas covered by graphs are Cape Reinga, Hauraki Gulf, Bay of Plenty, Wairarapa, Chatham Islands, Cook Strait, Banks Peninsula, Fiordland, Otago Peninsula and Stewart Island.
THE last of the eight iwi in Taranaki has signed its deed of settlement with the Crown, receiving an apology, land of cultural significance and $30 million.
Nga¯ ti Maru signed its deed of settlement in a scaled-down event yesterday settling its historical Treaty of Waitangi claims, Minister for Treaty of Waitangi Negotiations Andrew Little announced.
The Nga¯ ti Maru rohe is centred on the inland Waitara River valley, east to the Whanganui River and its tributaries, and west to Taranaki Maunga.
It has approximately 2800 registered members.
The signing marks the last of the eight Taranaki iwi to complete its treaty settlement. The only other outstanding claim in the region relates to Taranaki Maunga.
The historical grievances of Nga¯ ti Maru include the Crown’s confiscation of half of its land in 1865.
This was devastating to the mana, welfare, economy, and socio-cultural development of Nga¯ ti Maru, Little said.
The Crown’s actions at Parihaka between 1879 and 1881, where military forces imprisoned members of
Nga¯ ti Maru for participating in a peaceful resistance campaign, has been a significant burden for Nga¯ ti Maru.
‘‘As a result of the Crown’s acts and omissions Nga¯ ti Maru have been left virtually landless, and their people displaced and dispersed,’’ Little said.
The settlement includes an apology from the Crown and a set of acknowledgements addressing the Crown’s historical breaches of the Treaty of Waitangi. Nga¯ ti Maru will receive financial and commercial redress valued at $30 million.
A small signing ceremony was held given recent Covid-19 community cases. A public celebration of the occasion will take place when the settlement is finalised.
HILARY Barry was left red-faced after a subtitle mishap suggested she said something R-rated during Friday night’s broadcast of Seven Sharp.
The programme featured a segment about a breed of giant salmon being bred in the Tasman region: ‘‘Oh, I do love salmon,’’ Barry said to co-host Hadyn Jones at the end of the story.
But that’s not what hard-of-hearing viewers would have understood. A couple of hours after the broadcast, a viewer tagged Barry in a tweet.
‘‘I feel Hilary Barry might need to have a word with the subtitle people,’’ he wrote. ‘‘To clarify she loves salmon.’’ The tweet was accompanied by a photo of the viewer’s television, showing the subtitle: ‘‘I do love semen.’’
Barry retweeted the photo with the caption: ‘‘SALMON!! I LOVE SALMON!!!’’
The gaffe seems to be because of autogenerated closed-caption titles that ‘‘listen’’ to what the presenters say and transcribe it live. Several of Barry’s followers pointed out her New Zealand accent was likely difficult for the software to understand.
‘‘I am thinking over all the times I might have talked about loving salmon in my Kiwi accent while travelling . . . ’’ mused one.
Others noted that during last night’s broadcast Barry was wearing an off-theshoulder top, for which she has infamously received flak from viewers in the past. ‘‘Barbara is going to have a stroke over this one,’’ one follower wrote in reference to a notorious Barry troll. ‘‘Bare shoulders AND semen.’’
On Instagram, Barry said it had been ‘‘a very smutty afternoon all round’’, referencing an admission she made on
social media and on The Hits 3pm Pick Up show, that she had been naive about the popular Harry Styles song Watermelon Sugar. ‘‘The young people at work told me what the watermelon was in that Harry Styles song and now I’m too embarrassed to sing along,’’ she tweeted. ‘‘And to think I thought it was so lovely and innocent for a nice young man like Harry to write a song about fruit.’’
The song is widely believed to be a sexual metaphor, though Styles has not confirmed this. Several of Barry’s Twitter followers confessed to being similarly ignorant, though many found her naivety amusing.
PRIME Minister Jacinda Ardern agreed primary health centres that provided addiction support had been underfunded and, in some places, did not exist. However, she said it would take years to rebuild New Zealand’s support system.
Addiction counsellor Robyn Duncan said strong networks were vital during the weeks following rehab as addicts rebuild lives with friends and family.
‘‘These people coming out of rehab have to have that support,’’ she said.
Former addict and meth cook Ra Ingram returned from rehab to find a family member using the drug at home. She moved out so she wouldn’t be tempted herself. ‘‘I came home and the only thing that had changed was me.’’
Having somewhere to stay to get away from the drug was crucial, she said.
Ardern told Sunday News the Government had invested in expanding access to primary mental health and addiction support.
Over the next five years, she said, support services such as short-term interventions, counselling and group therapy would be rolled out to reach an additional 5000 people each year with mild to moderate drug addictions.
The plan also involved improving the quality of residential care, detoxification and aftercare support for more than 2000 people.
District Health Boards would receive money to alleviate cost pressures in residential care and detoxification services.
A cash injection would also enable the Ministry of Health and Department of Corrections to fund residential services more adequately.
‘‘It’s a matter of being able to scale that out, building up the workforce, which is a massive undertaking, because there has been such inadequate provision
across the country,’’ Ardern said. ‘‘In places where we have high meth use, for instance, we haven’t had any rehabilitation beds at all. That’s a problem across the country, and we are trying to build and rebuild.’’
Ardern spoke with a group of mothers who were fighting for treatment services on the East Coast.
‘‘I remember thinking how devastating to be in that situation when you see a family member fall
into this absolute pit, and that’s what meth is – it’s just a pit – and there was nothing to pull them out.’’
She also spoke with users in Hawke’s Bay after announcing funding for an extension of a rehab provider last year.
‘‘You can’t imagine how some people get out of bed in the morning. Some of their experiences are horrific and the drug addiction is often [further] down the track after multiple traumas.’’
for anything more today than just to have her in my life. It is the best motivator. Your kids are your motivation in being clean.
‘‘They have seen me high pretty much their entire lives. They hated it.’’
His granddaughter was born in June. Cornelius stuck to his word, but it hasn’t been easy since his latest release from rehab.
A few weeks ago, Trina saw him get in the car. She followed him and found him with a pipe, but the crisis was averted.
Meth was his coping mechanism for more than 20 years. It’s the first tool his brain turns to when dealing with stress.
‘‘It is a powerful drug. It’s played a big toll on my body. I am learning new tools to teach me how to keep clean, and it makes a difference – regular meetings, being around new associates, staying away from certain people’s places.’’
Cornelius finds power in talking to others. Getting sober is not a road travelled alone. Addicts need support, especially when they feel the urge to use again.
‘‘I thoroughly enjoy being clean. It gives me the opportunity to help struggling people and not be a hypocrite. It is being able to tell my story and say: ‘I’ve been there, I know what it’s like’.’’
Cornelius doesn’t remember his worst days of meth addiction, but Trina has vivid memories of him asking her for money to buy groceries or petrol – and then spending it on meth.
‘‘It’s all lies, manipulation and alibis,’’ she says.
As a mother, the hardest part was shielding her kids from the ugly reality. ‘‘Talking to someone in psychosis, you can’t reason with them. You can’t discuss anything with them. I am pretty headstrong, and I can look after myself, but there were times I didn’t even know who my
husband was, and I did fear him.
‘‘I didn’t know what he could do next. The drug could make him change completely and do something he didn’t want to do.’’
There were times she fled the house. She would hide her car, so he couldn’t find her. She was told people were going to turn up at the house if he didn’t repay debts.
She learned how to change deadlocks and put up security systems.
‘‘I could not make him get clean. I could have walked him into rehab, but it wouldn’t have worked unless he wanted to walk himself there.’’
Trina talked to a clinician, Andrew Hopgood, who referred her to a Facebook page called New Zealand ‘P’ Pull.
She says it saved her life. She connected with other women in similar positions and is now on the organisation’s committee, which is based at the Wesley Community Action centre in Porirua, and is campaigning for the Government to allow intervention and prevention programmes with younger generations.
‘‘These drugs are going to be passed around as our children grow up, and we want them to be educated . It’s not worth experimenting, and it will take your family out.’’
She knows this because she has revived her husband following two suicide attempts.
On one occasion, Cornelius locked himself in the sleep out and tried to kill himself after Trina told him he was no longer welcome in the family home.
She smashed the windows and performed CPR until paramedics arrived. ‘‘It’s hard,’’ she says. ‘‘I didn’t see that one coming.’’
It’s time society takes New Zealand’s drug epidemic seriously, Trina says. ‘‘It happens to every demographic – not just the poor or the rich – it’s everybody.’’
There are limited rehab centres, meaning it can be hard to find somewhere to get clean, and Cornelius was lucky to find a three-bed detox centre in Palmerston North run by the Salvation Army.
‘‘You’ve got to hope to get a bed, Trina says. ‘‘But where do you go after that detox? You just go back home to using.’’
When Cornelius came out of rehab, there was no post-detox care. He was told to see his AOD (alcohol and other drug) counsellor, but often had to wait weeks. When he missed a recent appointment, he was never contacted to schedule another.
‘‘You’re just a case to them,’’ Cornelius says. ‘‘They have no way of knowing whether you’re clean, whether their referral to send you to rehab was successful.’’
There needs to be more support at home, he says. ‘‘Even if it’s the rehab checking in on you for a certain amount of time. But there’s nothing. There should be a rehabilitation centre in every major centre.’’
Trina is calling on the Government to create change at the grassroots level. ‘‘[We need] programmes that are going to stop our children from becoming the next meth dealer, the next meth cook, the next grave.’’
She believes recovered addicts should be employed to talk to children at schools. ‘‘If we’re not educating, and we’re just enabling, and society allows methamphetamine to be so easy to get, we’re going to keep burying people.’’
Trina says she hates meth and has seen too many die. ‘‘I don’t want any of my next generation, my tamariki, my mokopuna, being taken out.’’
Cornelius has a simple message for those considering meth. ‘‘There is no good at the end of the tunnel when it comes to meth. Reach out for help.’’
IN Jemaine Clement’s Wellington, taniwha have pixelated sex in Oriental Bay. Centuries-old vampires roam the streets, obsolete cellphones morph into a killer robot, and a possessed woman projectilevomits into the Cuba St bucket fountain.
In Jemaine Clement’s Wellington, it’s mild and sunny. He walked from Mt Victoria. The builders at his house earlier turned down the Flight of the Conchords song that came on the radio, thankfully, saving Clement the embarrassment. He hasn’t been on our screens for a while, and Covid-19 has put a stop to tourists, which means less attention on the street. The only real and present danger is the bright teeth and octopus arms of first-year university students, hoping for an Instagram shot. ‘‘This time of the year might be the time where people will ask me for a hug,’’ says Clement, crossing a jeansclad leg.
‘‘When we were on the TV here all the time it was unusual, people would – not in the same way as America, but you know, businessmen would be like – ‘Oh hey Jemaine, welcome home, how are you doing’?’’ he says, getting into character, ‘‘All the time. And then Bret [McKenzie] and I would get inundated, but everyone is used to it now, and the show hasn’t been on for a long time.’’
Does he prefer this relative anonymity? ‘‘Oh yeah, it’s good, life is more normal. You know, sometimes I wouldn’t feel up to, say going to the supermarket or something,’’ he laughs, a hearty guffaw, ‘‘because I’d be like, ‘Oh, I’ll have to do these selfies if I go.’ But now I can live my life normally again.’’
It seems hard to believe that Clement, 47, a career comedian, actor, musician, writer, director, one-time animator and contender for New Zealand’s hottest Hollywood export has a life that’s anything approaching normality, but he’s telling the story.
It’s what he’d rather do, anyway. More than a decade since he rose to fame with fellow Wellingtonian McKenzie as one half of the comedy-folk duo, Clement is more than happy to be behind the camera, directing and writing. His answer to a question about whether there’s anything he’s done he can’t bear to watch is simply: all of it. ‘‘Things I act in I don’t watch at all, and then after I’ve done the edit of the shows I don’t watch again. So, everything. I don’t watch anything again.’’
This interview is to promote Wellington Paranormal, the New Zealand spin-off show of Clement and long-time collaborator Taika Waititi’s 2014 comedy horror film What We Do in the Shadows. Clement has directed three episodes of the upcoming season, starring Karen O’Leary and
Mike Minogue as police officers chasing supernatural occurrences. For the past several years, he’s split his time between Wellington, Los Angeles and Toronto, where he has just finished working on the second season of the American spin-off sitcom, What We Do In the Shadows. That’s currently rating at 94 per cent on review aggregator Rotten Tomatoes, and was deemed one of 2020’s best shows by The New York Times.
He has also been filming the Avatar sequels, in which he plays a marine biologist, stars in friend Jackie van Beek’s upcoming film Nude Tuesday, now in post-production, and is writing a new US series, the contents of which are currently – he stage whispers the next bit – ‘‘a secret’’.
Career-wise, he has no reason, as Paranormal star O’Leary says later, to be involved with the Wellingtonbased show. ‘‘There’s no part of him that needs to have anything
‘Things I act in I don’t watch at all, and then after I’ve done the edit of the shows I don’t watch again. So, everything. I don’t watch anything again.’
‘Usually with the kind of work that I’ve done I’m just some weird guy. I never really think about what I am trying to do with comedy, it just occurs to me and whoever I’m writing with and if it’s funny to us then it will make it into our work.’
to do with Wellington Paranormal, but he cares about it and is passionate about it, and that’s good for him and for us,’’ she says. ‘‘I think that speaks to who he is.’’ For his part, Clement says it’s both a challenge and reward to work with known creatives and new actors. ‘‘It’s always fun working with that group of people, and it’s always difficult because we are trying to do all these special effects and things on this very limited New Zealand time and budget. Sometimes it’s fun, and sometimes it’s a mad panic,’’ he says.
‘‘I’m always surprised in the auditions by people popping up that I’ve never met before, we’ve found lots of good people. We even get people from Auckland in it sometimes, when the budget extends to the ticket and the hotel.’’
It feels surreal meeting this real-life Clement, someone whose face and voice has become so synonymous with New Zealand comedy. A comedian who began performing in troupes with fellow Victoria University students Waititi and McKenzie in Wellington’s dive bars in the mid-90s, Clement is now the embodiment of Making It Big in America.
In early interviews he and McKenzie bounce off each other, clowning around in their shared flat. An older Clement declines Stuff’s request to meet at the home he shares with wife Miranda Manasiadis and son Sophocles Iraia, 12. He gives short answers to personal questions or changes the topic. On fatherhood: ‘‘It’s the best thing I’ve done I think. I love it.’’ Next question. He is happier with conversational banter, is quick to laugh, and uncrosses his arms to talk more animatedly about other people’s work.
‘‘He’s incredibly humble which makes no sense because he’s so talented. Jemaine’s a journalist’s nightmare,’’ says Paranormal star O’Leary, when I call. ‘‘He’s much more likely to ask what you’re up to than talk about himself.’’
She first met Clement on
What We Do in the Shadows, five minutes before the police officers played by her and Minogue had a bit-part. She had never acted, had no script, and she and Minogue were told to improvise a response to a call-out.
‘‘He was like ‘What’s your name going to be?’ And I said, ‘Shouldn’t you know my name? It’s your movie.’ And he said, ‘What’s your name?’ And I said, ‘O’Leary.’ and he said, ‘Ok, that’s a cop’s name.’’’ She credits the legacy of that movie and her career to his vision, and faith in the abilities of others. ‘‘He’s unusual in the way he operates. He’s creative, but he’s also very collaborative and there’s no ego anywhere. He could be a total wanker, but he’s so not at all like
Wellington Paranormal. that.’’
As a schoolkid growing up in Masterton, Clement wanted to be an animator. His dream came true for a brief period in the early 2000s, when he and friend Guy Capper spent hours animating a duo of claymation sheep for series Robert and Sheepy. The sheep hang out at a bar, prank-calling cows, or drolly discuss their grass-eating schedule. It was fun, but painstaking, and ultimately not for him, Clement says. ‘‘It would take about ten hours to get ten seconds, but it’s surprisingly exciting to watch the thing that has just been a lump of
Plasticine come alive at the end of the day. But it’s only for a certain type of person, I think, and it took a patience I didn’t have.’’
As a fan of the surreal, whose favourite film is Peter Jackson’s Heavenly Creatures, Clement’s acting style is spontaneous and improvisational. He says he is very much not a perfectionist. ‘‘I don’t mind doing lots and lots of takes but I’ve never gone method or anything like that. I’ve never lived in the bush for a month on a silent retreat to get ready for a part. I just look at the lines and then do my version of it.’’
Directing is different, he says, because there’s more precision needed. ‘‘There’s a lot of selfdoubt at some point. With Paranormal, all the episodes of the show I like, but there are sometimes bits I wonder will people notice that it’s a little bit crap, because we couldn’t fix it. Often they don’t notice, as long as there’s enough jokes.’’
But Clement likes having control over the creative process. As a younger comedian working with McKenzie in Los Angeles on Flight of the Conchords, this was far more limited. He recalls having to fight to get non-white actors cast as he and McKenzie’s girlfriends in the show, an option that appeared not to have been considered. This problem persists, he says.
‘‘Even in Shadows trying to cast someone who is Native American, or one of the main characters is Latino, it’s just so difficult. They think you’re trying to make a point but it’s more like it’s not a point, people are from different places.’’
Clement is Ma¯ ori (Nga¯ ti Kahungunu). He has personally not experienced industry racism, probably because he looks white, he says. At least, nothing’s ever been said. ‘‘Usually with the kind of work that I’ve done I’m just some weird guy.’’ He has addressed racism in his work, but says it’s not deliberate. ‘‘I never really think about what I am trying to do with comedy, it just occurs to me and whoever I’m writing with and if it’s funny to us then it will make it into our work.
‘‘We’re not really trying to do it in an important way, but I guess it’s always around, part of my point of view as a mixed race person is being more aware of that than other people might. I think New Zealand thinks about these things quite a lot too, and that’s probably informed me and my friends who I work with.’’ (Waititi, notably, started a national conversation in 2017 when he said New Zealand was ‘‘racist as f...’’.)
Clement has also gone into bat for women comedians, saying it’s because they are just as funny. ‘‘When we first started Paranormal most of the scripts that came back the first time didn’t give Karyn any jokes. And I would say, give her just as many jokes as Mike, she’s just as funny as Mike. Don’t just make her the one that’s serious and saying, ‘Don’t do that, guys’,’’ he says.
‘‘But that’s because I want the show to be funnier, as well. It’s funny if they’re both funny, you know, not just a funny guy and a woman that’s answering to him. Lots of comedy duos have one who does the jokes but for this I want them both to have the jokes ’coz there’s more jokes.’’
On Twitter, every celebrity’s direct line to the world at large, Clement has a history of being a stirrer. In 2017 he got into a headline-generating fight with former Happy Days actor Scott Baio over the latter’s support of Trump, and in 2015 waded into an anti-vaccination rant by the actor Jim Carrey, saying he was ‘‘defending investigation’’.
Clement says he is not an anti-vaxxer, would take a Covid vaccine, and has had his own son vaccinated. ‘‘To be fair to people who were criticising me, I didn’t really have the full picture of the anti-vaccination scene. My argument was you can’t just blindly trust anything, science or anything, we still have to have some degree of questioning. But in this environment now [science] is what we really rely on, we really rely on things like vaccinations and it’s probably one of the best inventions that we have.’’
Nowadays, he tries to avoid those types of topics, but thinks Twitter is a minefield. ‘‘If you say something that can be taken the wrong way or is slightly offensive, or you might think of as a cheeky, edgy joke to your friends, it could blow up in front of the whole world.
‘‘That’s not happened to me exactly, but I’ve done things where I’ve let it be ambiguous or something like that, and then you just end up defending yourself. So I don’t do that any more, I don’t try and like, annoy people on purpose.’’
He smiles, that laconic grin. ‘‘Any more.’’
It’s not like Clement has ever made his creative decisions based on mass appeal. Nearing the end of the interview, I ask Clement about one of his lesserknown films, Humor Me, where he plays a son who moves into a retirement village with his dad. Did that do well? ‘I don’t know,’’ he says. While he used to be hurt by a bad review, he no longer cares.
In fact: ‘‘Sometimes if I do a live show and people are laughing and one person isn’t,
I’ll find that quite funny.’’ Do you try and make them laugh?
‘‘No. I just find it funny.’’
And with that, his raison d’etre, Wellington’s favourite comedian is off, sneakered feet hitting the street, beating a path back home to his ordinary life.
Jemaine Clement, at left with Flight of the Conchords co-star Bret McKenzie, has directed three episodes of this season’s
AT 84, Michael Benns works six days a week as a real estate agent, 90-year-old Rei Te Teira-Ngatai is an admin support worker, and Larry Webb, 85, has no plans to give up being a driving instructor.
All three say working keeps them young and are part of the 5800-strong group of Kiwis over the age of 80 still working, with 1600 of those working full-time, according to 2020 Stats NZ figures.
Nothing seems to slow them down: Benns, a former air force fighter pilot, came out of retirement at 55 to be a full-time real estate agent in Auckland, after managing several investment companies.
Te Teira-Ngatai, from Wellington, finds having a job is fulfilling and sociable, while Webb, in Whanga¯ rei, keeps working because he wants young people to be safe.
A Neighbourly survey found people over 70 worked as consultants, caregivers and chaplains at retirement villages, financial controllers, lawyers, teachers, in retail, architecture, run their own business, have management positions, and drive buses and trucks.
Age Concern, an organisation dedicated to people aged over 65, said many worked past superannuation age because they want to fulfil a purpose, others needed to work for the money.
Benns works six days a week, and has sold hundreds of properties. ‘‘Everyone thinks real estate is an easy way to make money, but it isn’t, it’s quite hard. The idea is to take the stress of selling away from the client, and I take that on – it’s quite stressful.’’
Working during the lockdown last year was challenging, only because he missed the face-to-face interaction he had with clients.
But like everything else he’s experienced in his life, including a bad hip that he hopes to get fixed, Benns said you just have to get on with it.
‘‘I’ve always been fussy about getting regular medical checks. When I’m not working I like to do as little as possible, but I still work, I can’t help it, I’m always thinking real estate.
‘‘I’ve lived a very thorough life, I’ve done everything I’ve possibly wanted to do – I flew a Concorde once. The only thing I’d want to do now is fly a supersonic aircraft, but I don’t think that will happen.’’
Te Teira-Ngatai said working beyond retirement age stopped older people from becoming hermits.
The nonagenarian is a parttime administration support worker for Age Concern New Zealand in Wellington, sending resources to branches around the country.
‘‘I feel that through me, we’re doing something for older people – we’re keeping them informed about what’s available,’’ she said. ‘‘I don’t consider myself old, I
suppose it’s a matter of attitude.’’
Te Teira-Ngatai has been with Age Concern NZ for about 18 years, originally volunteering, although she prefers the term ‘‘gifting hours’’.
When a job in finance became available, she decided to apply her bookkeeping experience to the role, and said getting paid made things ‘‘very comfortable’’. ‘‘I’ve just grown from there, and I’m still here.’’
Driving instructor Webb said older people had a wealth of knowledge and experience they could share.
He previously operated a driving school, but now gives private lessons, motivated by some grisly crash scenes he witnessed when working as a firefighter.
‘‘I feel that I can help youth... this silly old fart has had a lot of experience, and I’d like to hand that experience on before I die.’’
Webb has had a few near-death experiences, including being declared clinically dead following a car accident, aged 24. And in the 1970s, working as a firefighter, he deflected the side of a wheel that broke free from a truck near the Civic Theatre in Queen St, helping save dozens of school children in its path.
Webb said he would encourage other older people to work to their fullest, as much as they are able to. When he’s not behind the wheel, he loves to keep fit at his Kamo home and walks regularly to the shops.
He’s also a country music singer.
Age Concern chief executive Stephanie Clare said many people over the age of 70 chose to work or volunteer as it can make them feel valued as a member of their community.
However, some people in this age group needed to work to make ends meet, especially if they still have a mortgage or are renting. Clare said workplaces need to find the right fit for older employees as they move away from full-time work.
Age Concern would also like to see the Government invest in digital inclusion programmes, training, and continued education for older people, plus encourage opportunities for part-time work and volunteering, she said.