The package I send in the British Detective swap also contained a red herring. Literally:
Very nice food, herring. We Dutch people eat it “raw”. At booths in the street. With some onions and a little tooth pick with a flag:
I love how this part of the swap is again a link to our heritage, to history, to the colours of the landscape that the sea faring folks around here have been seeing for centuries. Colours now caught in the Holst yarns and hopefully someday knitted by my swappee:
There’s a special light that surrounds the North Sea. People here are always looking at the skies, marvelling at light and atmosphere. Some people catch these lights and frame them, like painter Zarina Stewart-Clark:
Very much “this place I live, these parts I know”. We often stare at the sky and we breathe, just breathe.
If however a herring is red and hairy they’re more likely to be a false decoy in a detective story:
There are no onions with the knitted herring I send.
Because that’s a clue towards my identity: I don’t eat onions.
They’re bad for me although I haven’t figured out what gene/cell process is at fault here. You’d suspect CBS genes but those are fairly normal in me. As are MTHFR. Although none of them is 100% functional and a particular combination of malfunctions are together in a street gang.
Some of my MTR/MTRR genes are 100% broken and as a result I have no smart police force protecting the city. What team of friendly cops I do have can’t access the motor pool (B4, B12, folate and vit D3) which results in my cells filling up with ammonia if I eat onions.
Yeah, lots of suspects and leads in The Methylation Mystery and I ought to do some serious sleuthing to figure out the whole story. But I’d rather knit funny things and giggle:
I used pattern Great White Christmas by Kris Mimulus, a free pattern for a shark shaped x-mas bauble. Good pattern.
The red herring came with a sheet of paper. On it where lyrics to a song.
You see, my swappee likes opera, especially the one in Paris. But she hates cotton and acryl and pink and trinkets that clutter up the house.
“Trinkets” in French is “Bibelots” and in Dutch it’s “prullen” or “prullaria”.
Are you kidding? An aria-lover who hates prullaria?
That calls for a prull-aria! I started to think up lyrics right away.
As a format I chose a well known opera aria. You know this one, it’s “La Donna et mobile”. Have a look at Nicholas Cage in his underpants if you need a
The original aria is written in Italian. I’m not very good with Italian. I’m a bit better with French, which my swappee speaks fluently. I threw in some Dutch and English and mixed it all up. I’m going to quote you the lyrics now. I’m sure you can understand some of it, after all, it’s the universal sound of music!
This is the Duke of Mantua’s cast-on starting on row 3 of Giuseppe Verdi’s opera Rippoletto (1851):
L’ Acryl è mobile!
Qual un peut hirsuté…
Poisson ou empoisonné?
pour vous à détectiver!
Toujours un aimable,
en circulars ou en Merino
mais pas en coton rosé!
L’acrilico è mobil’.
Qual piuma rosso…
una piuma del mare?
mais pas des oignons!
Il est toujours malheureux
celui qui acquerrait ready-mades…
Glorifions les tricoteuses!
Qui créent des choses prestigieuses:
Sjaals en mutsen and warm woolen mittens,
dust gathering statues of little black kittens,
cream coloured ponies and crocheted noodles,
baubles and bibelots and toilet paper poodles!
Si le chien mord!
Si l’abeille pique!
Si je me sens triste….
Je n’ai qu’à penser aux tutti del varia!
Et je chante cèèèèètte prull-aria!
Here’s that last bit again, in English, because I know how you love your classics:
“When the dog bites!
When the bee stings!
When I’m feeling sad…
I simply remember all the things varia!
And I sing thiiiiiiiiiiis prull-aria!”