Given the weather we had last week, I've had to drag my winter woollies out of the cupboard a month early.

It also means I've had to bring forward my annual "moth audit", which is highly inconvenient given the time it takes and the pain it causes me. Salty tears will course down my cheeks as I hold up my jumpers and mutter: "Ruined! Quite ruined!", like a doctor examining what's left of the NHS.

The moth audit, I should explain, is where I count how many new holes there are in my favourite Guernsey/polo neck/tank top. I also check the old ones against last year's measurements and calculate how much longer I can wear my precious old Aran sweater before it simply falls apart (I use X + Y = Z, where X is its age, Y is the sentimental attachment I feel towards it and Z is the likelihood of me learning to darn).

One day there'll be a smartphone app that does it all for me. Until then it can only be done by spending a dismal afternoon with pen, pad, measuring tape, slide rule, a well-thumbed copy of Calculus Made So Simple Even An Idiot With An Arts Degree Can Understand It and a pot of strong tea.

I'll finish off by searching in vain for an ironmonger that will sell something – anything – to rid my home of the dreaded Tineola bisselliella that arrived with the in-laws one day, presumably in egg form, but didn't have the courtesy to leave with them. At least that's my theory. Her Indoors blames the rather disreputable Crombie overcoat I bought in a charity shop in 2006, which, weirdly, still doesn't have any moth holes in it.

If you have clothes moths, you'll know there's not much you can do about them. One way is to freeze your jumpers, which is what the professionals do (I had it from a man who had it from a man who says that's how the National Museum of Scotland keep their historic textiles moth-free). But if that leaves no room in the freezer for the pizzas and breaded treats that keep the kids pliant at weekends, what's the point?

Another way is to pretend the moths aren't there at all, at least until you see one. Then you make sure you splatter it all over the wall. A word of advice, though: invest in a proper fly swat and don't use a copy of The Herald. It'll leave an inky black smudge all over your Timorous Beasties wallpaper. Wilful self-deception followed by manic swatting is my approach – until the annual moth audit makes me face up to reality and I check what these not-so-timorous beasties have done to my knitwear. Ruined, quite ruined. n