|   | 
		
		 | 
		
			My PVC trews. 
 
O PVC trews, once you were sleek and shiny, and thus Cool.  Now you are laddered and unwearable.  You cling on, begging for a touch of gaffer-tape, a smidge of acrylic, saying "just patch me up!  I'll be okay!" 
 
Poor PVC trews. I loved you once, but I am a fickle Mordant.  I betray you with less than a moment's thought. 
 
I hate to confess it but I am almost thrilled to cannibalise my former favourites into patches and accessories.   
 
"Noooo!  Do not cut me up for patches!  Wait!  Waiiiiiit!"    
 
In vain they protest.  I advance, scissors at the ready.			 |   
		 | 
				
				
 |