Fabric moths look so innocuous, like tiny folds of delicate tissue paper, but their one job is to reproduce and they’re good at it, so they like to be part of a gang. The moths do the breeding not the eating and their larvae are pretty, almost decorative, like fine silver silken threads. The larvae, too, have a mission in life, which is to eat. It’s the larvae that do the damage. I’m not talking about a snack here. One small hole in a garment isn’t too bad. But these little grubs treat it more like a running buffet; a little bit here, a little bit there, a quick look at what its neighbour is having and a speedy wriggle to a new spot.

Their secret weapon is they look so surprisingly innocent, but like most insects they’re totally dedicated to a cause. Forget cedar balls. Cedar balls don’t bother them in the slightest. Moths will happily reproduce using cedar balls as furniture. Professional and expensive fumigation works in the short term, but once the larvae find a good source of food they’ll eventually come back and carry on where they left off.

What kills them best are old-fashioned mothballs, those little pungent white balls that dissolve and gradually give off a gas that poisons moths – and, incidentally, repels snakes, bats and squirrels, gives susceptible people anaemia and puts off customers.

The war between clothes moths and me is ongoing.

I stick some pheromone moth traps around the flat to gauge the degree of the infestation and spray the place liberally with pesticide. Then I go along to St Mark’s Church, where they’re setting up for the Nearly-New Clothing Sale.

I like working in the vast holy emptiness of the church and I like the organiser, Naomi Brown. She’s a tall, slender woman with an eye for the asymmetric in hems, sleeves, necklines and hairstyle, who greets me warmly because I’ve brought my Allen keys to tighten up the clothing rails that invariably develop a lean.

The church is sunlit, jewelled with stained glass, highlighted with gold-leafed angels, and we’re watched over by a solemn Virgin Mary holding a chubby toddler.

There are lots of bags on the floor – bin bags, carrier bags, designer shopping bags –and that’s when the excitement starts, when we begin to unpack. There might be a Primark dress in a Selfridge’s bag and a John Galliano suit in a bin liner.

Since the popularity of vintage, more people have become experts on the subject. The charity shops keep the labels and sell them at a premium price. The jumble sale has been dropped for ‘nearly new’ and Mary Portas is the Queen of the High Street, so the church nearly-new sale is always popular for bargains.