Why you can't pull the wool over their eyes

When my father died (about five years ago), he was cremated and my mother decided that we would scatter the ashes at a beach in New Zealand. We checked with the Crematorium and they said that there was no problem taking ashes through customs but that we should carry them in our hand luggage and declare them when we got there. They also gave us a letter clarifying exactly what it was that we were carrying.

So, we arrive in Auckland - letter in hand and ashes in bag. We (me, Handsomest, my mum and my six months pregnant sister) all traipse through the something to declare aisle and find ourselves face to face with a rather strapping customs officer.

'Hey,' says Handsomest, 'we've got some ashes to declare'.

'I'm sorry sir, what was that?'.

'We've got some ashes to declare'.

'I'm sorry, I can't hear you sir'.

'I said, we've got some ashes to declare,' repeats Handsomest. 'But it's alright, we've got a letter saying it's ok'.

'Just a moment,' says the behemoth beckoning frantically to one of the other customs guys who practically runs over to us.

'What have you got?' he says again, dropping the sir.

'We've got some ashes and a letter saying it's ok. You know, human remains'.

'Ahhhhh,' says the customs officer, 'I thought you said that you had HASHISH'.

Although God knows why we would have had a letter saying it was ok to take hashish through international customs.