This week is House Week - an end-of-academic-year ramped-up form of spring cleaning, tidying, throwing out (no - not Marie-Kondo-ing it all: I am not asking each object if it sparks joy in me, which seems a crazy thing to do with, say, a bag of screws or a dustpan-brush), and generally trying to get everything in order (I swear there are some boxes, or at least plastic crates, which have followed me around from England).
Which may explain the origin of these moths - we had a nasty moth outbreak or so back in Oxford, and I've never been confident that they've entirely disappeared from my life since. There seems to have been a nasty uptick the last month or so, despite me (or for all I know, because of me) turning out my closet a few months back, wiping every last crack in the floorboard with vinegar, setting eco-friendly sticky traps, and so on. But here was a veritable moth-farm in the garage - a wicker basket of old - well, hard to tell. Old fabrics, one or two old sweaters - I'm very sorry to be losing this puce and purple old friend, which I bought back in 1977 from a shop just over the Ponte Vecchio, in Florence. I'm surprised any moth took to it, since it was unmistakable acrylic. Alas. In general, however, the garage (and everywhere else) will be a better place.
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