ParfumGigi@aol.com

21.05.2005

Bureaucracy dealt a cruel blow to S and M enthusiasts this week - and while they might have quite enjoyed it, I'm not at all sure they deserved it. In a land where you once needed a criminal conviction to get in and were within your rights to shoot the indigenous population on sight, it seems entirely unfair that a minority group should have its civil liberties curtailed.

As part of a wide-ranging set of guidelines, Australian funeral directors this week outlawed the cremation of anyone wearing latex, plastic or rubber clothing. So if you're a dominatrix hoping to be buried in your Saturday night best, you're outta luck.

The same goes for anyone planning on taking a bottle of their best brandy with them to the afterlife and any folk especially attached to their strong-hold aerosol hairspray. Sure, the guidelines aren't entirely unreasonable - we don't want to be scraping Grandma Cybil's melted bodice from the oven floor after all - but it defies belief to think we actually need them.

Now I don't want to be seen to be making any underarm attacks on our friendly neighbours across the ditch ... but what sort of dead people are they dealing with over there? I don't know about you, but the last time I checked, handcuffs and a whip weren't high on my list of things to carry with me on my way to the pearly gates. And how many of us well-bred colonials plan on sending Uncle Burt on his way with a full swig of whisky - whether he needed it or not?

The news that aerosols are outlawed will come as a huge disappointment to all the Aussie graffiti artists out there who had banked on taking a few extra cans in case there was any opportunity for minor misdemeanours once arriving at eternal hell.

And, okay, fair cobber to our neighbours - they're covering all bases. Apparently the new rules had to be fairly explicit in the information they gave, to make sure certain things didn't happen. Thus the directive to remove all hearing aids before cremation - it wouldn't do for old Nigel from the rest home down the road to overhear the embalmer's secret recipe for good skin tone and pass it on. "In for a dime, in for a dozen", thought the old biddies during their AGM. "Pacemakers might as well go while we're at it - no chance, then, of that grave-robbing charlatan from plot A23 sneaking out in the dead of night and stealing the batteries to power his portable X-Box" (they're allowed).

Almost as strange as what can't go with you to the grave is what can - silicone breast implants for a start. Sure, they're plastic, but if the thigh-high rubber boots are out, let's be consistent and chuck the double Ds as well.

However, that poses a problem for respectable funeral directors who wouldn't want to be caught with their hands on the merchandise, even if it was in the name of a fire-safety inspection.

Metal pins and joints get to stay, although if you haven't been lucky enough to benefit from reconstruction surgery and lost your limb altogether, a separate set of rules outlines correct procedure for the disposal of amputated body parts.

The old fellows at the Funeral Directors' Association of Australia seem rather chuffed by their somewhat late arrival onto the scene of political correctness gone mad, pointing out the guidelines are the first of their kind to be adopted.

Really? You mean no one else had thought before that it might not be a good idea to put a pressurised aerosol can into an open fire?

No one had considered that when dear old Great-Uncle Bill said he'd like to send his wife off with a bang that he didn't mean throw in her favourite bottle of port? It's because people have choices these days, says the association. Choices that apparently result in some rather inappropriate parting gifts.

My advice to young funeral directors faced with contraband? Choose to engage brain before reaching for the manual.