The truth about…clothes moths

They love the high life, they are seriously sartorial, the more expensive your clothes the better, they just love ‘em – to eat.

It’s not the adult moth Tineola bisselliella that’s the problem it’s its caterpillar offspring. These tiny little grubs eat clothes or to be precise they devour keratin.

Keratin unfortunately can be found everywhere but especially on natural fibres such as wool, silk, cotton and fur it is also found in nails, claws, feathers,  skin  and other bodily secretions – NICE!
Exactly!
Nice and nourishing to eat for clothes moth caterpillars.

Usually the caterpillars take about eight weeks to mature but if the conditions are not right they can eat on and off for up to two years! So be very careful about bringing textiles of any sort into your home especially if they are second hand, vintage or even antique and that goes for clothes, cushions, eiderdowns, rugs, furniture with any type of tapestry or webbing on it.

Mine got in via a vintage stole given to me at Christmas.

But although the moth causes the damage the fault lies with me for being slovenly.

Face it folks we are not desperately clean anymore and nor are we as conscientious about our belonging as we once were. Clothes are cheap and we have way more than we can possibly keep track of nowadays.

If you put away your clothes dirty you are asking for trouble. Cleanliness and good housekeeping are the order of the day to stop these little blighters in their tracks.

• Always put clothes away clean.
• Hang clothes in proper clothes bags so that if they are attacked the problem is contained.
• Use lavender and/or cedar balls to persuade moth to go elsewhere. Make sure you keep a check on the smelliness of said lavender bags and cedar balls and change frequently.
• Do not over stuff your wardrobe. Clothes moths love things dark and warm.
• Air your clothes frequently. Clothes Moths hate to be disturbed and dislike the light.
• Clean regularly and that means over, under, behind and in your wardrobe.
• Have a good proper de fug at the end of each season to keep on top of the problem for it can be anywhere and can strike anytime especially now we all have nice toastie houses.
• If you can store clothes in a cold place, clothes moths don’t like the cold.
• As they say prevention is better than a cure, usually because a cure is so damned expensive.

If you do find moth in your clothes here’s what to do:

• Find the source and destroy it – pretend you are Sigourney Weaver and you’re going to get the Alien. It is scary and you will have collateral damage.
• Check all clothes.
• Those that are damaged or with visible eggs (tiny black specks) or caterpillars (small whitish grubs) should be immediately bagged up and sealed. These can be treated.
• Clothes are undamaged and that can be washed in temperatures over 40 degrees should immediately be washed with a non-biological washing powder/liquid. No point using biological agents as that is just another food source for the moth.
• Clothes that can be dry cleaned with no visible or active moth damage should be bagged and sent to the dry cleaners. Do NOT send any clothes that you think have moth to the Dry Cleaners as you will only spread the problem and that’s just not nice.

Now what to do with clothes that have damage/active grubs/eggs?

Well bag the lot up and freeze ‘em.

I had rather a lot of clothes and so I bagged up everything. I was advised for clothes with sequins/embroidery/gilt etc. to layer acid free tissue paper between the layers and to wrap glass/bone/shell buttons etc. in twists of tissue paper to protect them.

I then took the whole lot to the Ipswich Museum where they were placed in an industrial freezer at minus 40 degrees and where they will stay for two weeks. That will kill 99.9 per cent of the moths, grubs, eggs and pupae on them. After that I will dry clean the lot with a clear conscience. Note though that I had rather a bad infestation.

If you have only a few clothes and a large freezer at home you can use that perfectly well.

As for the wardrobe, well room, where I keep my clothes I have had all the carpets cleaned and I am spraying the rooms with Constrain, a museum grade insecticide, to get on top of the problem. I will not be using moth balls as I cannot stand the smell and they are poisonous especially to pets and children as well as being highly inflammable. Instead I am going large of lavender, luckily I really like the smell – but the moths don’t!

Ipswich and Colchester Museums are running a series of lectures about looking after your treasures:

Sat 24^th September – Fashion Forever at Colchester Castle.  ‘Find out how costumes and textiles are looked after.  Get practical advice about looking after clothes and textiles, from wedding dresses to uniforms.  Bring your own textiles for extra practical advice’.  10.30am-1pm

10.30am-1.00pm. £10 per person, includes castle entry (tea and coffee included). These events are very popular so booking is essential, book in advance by calling 01206 282940 or by dropping into Hollytrees Museum, Colchester.

Sat 8^th October – Making Metals Last.  Ipswich Museum.  ‘Hear about looking after metal objects.  From trophies to jewellery and ornaments, learn how to keep them looking good and make them last’.  10.30am-1pm.

10.30am - 1pm. £10 per person. These events are very popular so booking is essential, book in advance by calling 01473 433691 or by dropping into Christchurch Mansion, Ipswich.

Sat 19^th November – Fashion Forever at Christchurch Mansion.  ‘Find out how costumes and textiles are looked after.  Get practical advice about looking after clothes and textiles, from wedding dresses to uniforms.  Bring your own textiles for extra practical advice’.  10.30am-1pm.

10.30am – 1pm. £10 per person (tea and coffee included). These events are very popular so booking is essential, book in advance by calling 01473 433691 or by dropping into Christchurch Mansion, Ipswich.

Sat 3^rd December – Making Metals Last.  Hollytrees Museum.  ‘Hear about looking after metal objects.  From trophies to jewellery and ornaments, learn how to keep them looking good and make them last’.  10.30am-1pm.

10.30am-1.00pm. £10 per person, includes castle entry (tea and coffee included). These events are very popular so booking is essential, book in advance by calling 01206 282940 or by dropping into Hollytrees Museum, Colchester.

For more information go to : www.colchestermuseums.org.uk 

Fleas, Moths and Nits (Again)….What was your summer like?

My adorable but flea infested Siamese cat - Agatha Bagwash

I have been plagued all summer by a variety of insects and I do mean plagued – fleas, moths and nits.

First it was the Nits not just my children but also me (see Nits is the word..) then it was the fleas courtesy of the cat. I blame her because she’s very ancient now and probably won’t give a fig if I use her name in vain and anyway it was the vet who found them and they were on the cat. So, for sake of argument, it was Agatha’s fault.

I must admit I was mortified when the vet pointed them out. I haven’t been very good at keeping an eye on Agatha of late and hadn’t realised that she was finding grooming herself a little difficult with her arthritis. It used to be so easy when her sister was alive as they used to clean each other but now Alice has gone (she’s been gone a year – see A Fat Cat) Agatha has no one to help and that coupled with old age has meant she is not as clean and well kempt as she once was – and it is my responsibility, just like the nits are my responsibility.

[Though if I find a mother next term who isn’t on top of the little blighters I may just start billing them for all the LyClear I have to use! Up until last year we had NEVER had a problem with nits now it’s a permanent fight!!!!)

I digress.

Fleas.

A plague of fleas everywhere and much spraying of anti-flea or instantfleadeath about the house and in all the crooks and crannies such as along the sides of the wall where the carpet folds under and in the sofa and on the cushions, the dog baskets and blankets and then after asphyxiating all and sundry time for us to vacate the house and stand outside in the rain while the stuff does it’s magic. I, of course forgot to check what the weather was doing when I over enthusiastically started the whole process and only read that the pets and children should be kept clear of all disinfected rooms for at least four hours after application when of course I had finished…pugger!

And then there were the moths…

A very expensive lot of moths - Tineola bisselliella.

Just finished all my holiday washing and was putting the clothes back in my room when I noted that there was a moth on my beautiful red wool dress that my husband bought me from Hobbs last autumn.  There were also little red bits on the floor.

If I said my heart sank, it would be an understatement.

I hastily checked all of my clothes and there were moth everywhere.

Now I am not good at getting rid of stuff, in fact some of the clothes I have are so old they are positively vintage now and I love all of them.

When I was very lucky to live in London and have enough money I bought beautiful clothes, Mulberry, Hobbs, Betty Barclay, Diane Von Furstenberg, Jaeger, Droopy & Brown. I also bought vintage clothes and inherited amazing coats and dresses going right back to the 1920s and of course there was my wedding dress: my beautiful, silk velvet devore wedding dress.

I won’t estimate the cost because most of it is priceless to me.

Of course I immediately Googled moth and then set about doing something, anything, while trying very hard not to burst into tears.

Luckily my mind works in weird ways and instead of trying to do odd things with moth balls and calling in Rentokil, I contacted a textile conservator. Because that is what I do when I don’t know what to do – call in the experts.

Allyson Rae is a textile expert based in Norfolk she was absolutely brilliant and told me exactly what to do: Bag everything up and get it frozen

So that is what I am doing tomorrow freezing my clothes at the Ipswich Museum, it’s a long story but hopefully one that will end happily…that was my summer: nits, fleas and moths.

Depression: Struggling

I am struggling.
It's my fault I know. It's me, trying to do too much. Then getting tired, exhausted and falling into a dangerous place.
A place where the Black Dog can get at me.
It is relentless this beast and sometimes it seems just so much easier to let it devour me, to suck me dry.
But I don't like who I am when it happens. I hate myself when I become too weak to fight it off. I am vile in my own sight.
Somewhere I must find the strength to keep going to keep fighting.
God I wish it were that easy.
For those of you who have no idea imagine your worst despair then imagine you are trying to out run it. Sometimes you can ignore it, pretend it is not there but you know that really  it is forever on the periphery of your vision.
I say I wish it were cancer and my family give me sour looks. Yes, I know one of them has fought cancer and won. I know how terrrified they were and how brave to keep going. I am not belittling their battle, their fortitude. I try to right myself and explain that this is: "a cancer fo the soul" but they think I am overly dramatic and too full of sensibility.
We talk like aliens and I pity them their lack of understanding. I must understand them all. See things from their perspective, see how draining I am; how boring more like. Yep, my illness is boring because you cannot fight it with the wonders of modern science, it will not go away and I will not give in and die. So it is there day after day, month after month, year after year. Some would say I revel in my depression, that it makes me "interesting" that I only go on about it because without it I wouldn't be anything at all.
But that is untrue.
Without it I could have been so many things.
We all of us have a propensity for depression. Luckily mnay of us will not be triggered into it early.
My trigger was a severe bout of Glandular Fever coupled with a host of outside stresses which if I had had them but a few years earlier or later would not have made me intolerant to stress and caused me to develop a clincal depression.
I believe you don't just get drepression you develop it (unless of course it is Post Natal Depression which is entirely different). A series of triggeres/stresses brings it on, for many it is fought off but for a few  the combination is too great and a full blown clinical depression ensues. You never get rid of it. It underlies the rest of your life.
It can be managed and it can be held at bay but  we don't yet know enough to work out exactly what to do. So sometimes I am too tired and I fall and I hate myself for failing to manage it properly, for opening my mouth and saying stupid things, for shouting at my children, for not struggling hard enough, well, for not being normal....

It's been a hard couple of weeks, I am tired and struggling, but I will be OK. The safety nets are holding. I wish I didn't get so tired. I just wish I didn't have depression.

Use Somebody (Cover)

This is beautiful....

...it helps that I know she is beautiful too...

Facing your fears and doing it anyway

A horse called Henry

My fear is a horse called Henry. Well, that would be making it too personal for Henry, who until this morning had never actually met me.

My fear is horses, or horse riding to be strictly accurate. (I would have just said riding but these days there are such connotations regarding the use of riding that you have to put horse in front of it especially when you are on Twitter or you get all sorts of comments which have nothing at all to do about the noble art of equestrianism).

I haven’t ridden for 20 years or thereabouts, and the last horse I rode was very young during a schooling session with the Kings Troop in London.

We got on well in the arena and I was quietly confident; that is until we had to jump and I fell to pieces quite spectacularly and pulled up a quivering shaking mess. I haven’t ridden since.

Henry awaiting his lunch

Why was I a mess when everything had gone so well? The problem stemmed from the ride previous to that particular one, which saw me wrap myself round a post and rails breaking three ribs and necessitating a trip by ambulance to the hospital.

I thought I was fine about horse riding. But obviously the way our minds work is way deeper and far more complex than I ever imagined. My body just refused to do anything and I careered towards the jump out of control and only stayed on through sheer luck. I cannot say I was ever a bruising rider or even a confident rider. I was cautious but after the debacle with the Kings Troop I just sort of drifted away from it.

But years later I got the boys riding and somewhat to my surprise they enjoy it so I got them lessons at the local Riding School, Newton Hall in Swilland run by the redoubtable Rossie Theobold.

As I watched them I started to wonder if I could join them remembering how much I loved it as a child. In fact remembered how much I yearned for a pony of my own. Horse mad like many young girls.

So today I tried it again, faced my fears down on an old boy called Henry.

Blooming heck! It was HARD work!

Stoic Henry eating lunch

I know it was only for half an hour but I and my legs had obviously forgotten how physical it is especially on a slow poke that you have to keep kicking in order to keep moving forward. If you want a real work out forget the gym, go down to your local riding stables. By the end of 20 minutes I was drenched and could barely nod my head let alone speak when the wonderful Jordan, who was instructing me, suggested a walk round the yard to cool down. I might add that this was purely for my benefit not Henry’s who seemed as unperturbed by the whole experience as he was at the start. Stoic would best describe him.

The wonderful thing was in my efforts to keep him awake I totally forgot to be afraid and now I am looking forward to repeating the whole experience all over again – I must be mad!

Dancing to the Rhythm of Love....

Sometimes you come across a song that just sums up a day, a year, a summer - this summed up my trip to France with my boys, me and them travelling through France on our own. Eating lunch on the side of the Peage, kicking footballs somewhere south of Alencon and sunflowers masses and masses of sunflowers, enough to make my boys sick of them and me shouting: "Look Boys! Look! Sunflowers!"
Yeah whatever Mum....

 

(Song: Plain White Ts - Rhythm of Love)

In praise of good wine….

What is it about wine? Why do we as a species rate it so highly? And who on earth invented it? What accident or providence led them to stumble upon it? Surely it is a gift from God for I can see no other reason for its discovery.

And why do we like it so, well for one thing it is alcoholic. And what does alcohol do for us? Well it makes us feel good, it puts us in another state; usually one from which we yearn to escape.

Wine is the key to escapism.

And in these rough and ready times with rioters and terrorists lurking seemingly at every corner who wouldn’t want to escape?

Today I escaped with a bottle of white. Innocent white, pure white. It was from the Loire Valley; a little know vineyard run by Isabelle Suire from Pouant where her father is the Mayor. She took over from her father not too long ago (2006) and the wine produced is sublime!

It is fresh and clean with a hint of mint or so my eldest says and who am I to gainsay him on his first trip to a vineyard and tasting? Wild mint does grow in the area. So perhaps he has a future as a master of wines when he is older? I think I could live with that. It certainly goes down well as I can attest. It travels too; well the 500 or so miles from the Loire to Suffolk doesn’t seem to have made a difference at all. It tastes of summer, of family, of sunflowers and lazy evenings. Swallows in the clear blue sky.

Isabelle has won  many awards for her wine and I would say rightly so; but the ones I can find all relate to her Red wine, which The Boy said tasted of cherries and strawberries. It was certainly good but I would say you would be a fool to miss her whites and as for her Cremant de Loire, well at only £6.40 a bottle it was a steal.

I did not meet Isabelle, only her father. He was wonderful, just as you would expect a Marie to be, especially as my son is only eight and was tasting wine as if it was going out of fashion but the rules one applies when one is at home quickly vanish when one is on holiday. And I was interested in my son’s view point. A palate untouched by snobbery by anything but exactly what he thought.

Yes, he heard us muttering soulful things as we tried to convince each other, or possibly just ourselves what we thought but his was an innocent view point and however hard he might have tried to impress, he was not so old that he could dissemble what was really there.

So when he said he tasted grapes, strawberries, mint, caramel and cherries, I knew he spoke the truth.

Of course he showed off, what eight year old does not in a group of adults who hang off every word?

He enjoyed it I hope, I did.

And so when I taste the wine I am transported back to the courtyard of Isabelle Suire, the great big oak barrels, the ancient bottles covered in dust and cob webs, the chill of the caves and the sultry heat of an August evening, the broken down ping pong table and the bar where my son took his first tasting. Who would not appreciate such a wine?

The conversation every parent dreads...

There is a conversation every parent dreads. The one when you have to deal with S.E.X. Having both my boys at school mixing with everyone in the playground, it was bound to come up sooner or lat. I prefer it later. So imagine my horror while en vacances when my eldest turns to his granny and says: "I know what sex is!"
He's eight years old. And I know they grow up fast these days but not now, not in France and not in the middle of a family lunch. Everyone stopped what they were doing and listened in.
I dared not move a muscle.
Did he really know what it entailed, I mean all of it? God help me but I wanted his childhood to last just a bit longer.
I tried to divert his attention onto another subject, but he's a tenacious little toad.
No I want to tell, he says with a gleeful look. He can hardly surpress his giggles. It's when a girl and a boy go into a bedroom and they kiss and then they...
"moving swiftly n that,s lovely boy, anyone for more?"
"Muuuuuum! I haven't finished!"
"Oh please no'" I silently whisper to the Almighty, "Not now please not now..."
"well', he says, "after they kiss they....," he pauses for dramatic effect and looks me in the eye challengingly. "well after they kiss they roll around on the bed a lot, and that's it, sex. My friend whose seven has had sex....."

Just what they always wanted...

I've driven over 500 miles, I am in the middle of the most beautiful country god ever made. There is history in every step. Beautiful castles, stunning chateaux, brocantes, boulevards, canals, it fills your view and all my children want is to watch tv or else jump in the pool.
I feel we should be out exploring, getting a bit of culture, immersing ourselves in the French way of life. My lot want to play cards, eat crisps and drink coke but then again perhaps they already have...
I could have just hired a house with a pool in the UK or even gone to the local pool every day and saved myself the bother. But truth be known the is something about France and the French that makes even a pool side holiday so much more, well sophisticated.
So I will sit here in the glorious sunshine, drink my wine and nibble on olives while my children play in the water, everyone happy and everyone so chilled, yes?

A grown woman all on her own through France - part one

I'm a grown woman, on my own - well not quite I have two tetchy boys in the back of the car but I'm the one whose doing the driving, making all the decisions, free! And I can't help responding in that vein. I react in a different way on my own without my husband, but there again people would react differently to me if I were under escort...
It would never have happened.
Not that I was looking for it I hasten to add, well, how would you have reacted?
I'm on the Euro Tunnel, driving my car into the train and I see in front of me a tall tawny man in shorts and a Euro Tunnel coat. He's directing the cars to get closer to each other and as I drive up I notice that he's really very dishy indeed. In fact the disburse man I have seen in ages!
I drive up and am directed to move forward, more, a little more, I get nervous about hitting the car in front, it must show on my face as he looks up at me and smiles, my stomach clenched, and flutters. I go bright red. His grin deepens and I note he has the most beautiful blue eyes.
I get flustered, and try to concentrate. He raises his hand to tell me to stop. I do. He grins again and starts to move toward my window. I am confused. "What on earth does he want to say to me?"
He knocks on the window, I lower it blushing.
"yes," he says in the sexiest French accent, "you in first gear non?"
I am not quite with it, still bemused by this assault on my senses. " you Ok?"
I gather my wits but only just. "yes, yes i am fine!" my voice seems loud even to me.
"you have good journey, yes?"
I will now I think as I gaze into his eyes.
He grins at me again and I notice he has a very naughty twinkle. And then he is off. My brief flirtation over, but it was worth it unexpected as it was...
Yes it will be a good journey now, what a way to start a holiday!