I've just bundled up as many jumpers as I could find into black bin bags and shoved them into the boot of the car: I found a moth-hole in one of my woollens this evening, and I have heard that a blast of sub-zero temperatures kills the grubs.
How dare they eat my clothes!
The offending garment is rolled up amongst the frozen peas in the freezer, although I may end up throwing it away because the hole is big and undarnable.
Why did I buy that moth-eaten knitted vest at Spitalfields market?
It's lurking in the car sniggering unpleasantly and if it doesn't shut up immediately I'll put it on the compost heap with the potato peelings and onion skins; and the sticky toad that (I suspect) has interleaved itself amongst it all as it rots to keep warm.