I love my garden.

Admittedly it’s not like the gardens that we see in the Gardeners’ World magazines, or anything like the Chelsea Flower Show, but it’s still my little piece of paradise and I have nurtured each plant, lovingly tendering to all their needs.

I even talk to them, telling them how beautiful they are and how they’ve grown.

I stroke their tender leaves so they can feel me and yes, I will admit that they are my babies.

So you can imagine just how protective I am of them. They are my little green family. I have even joined a ‘beautiful gardens’ page on Facebook, where all like-minded people with green fingers share their photos, ask for advice and well, basically chit-chat about gardens.

But, I have to say, things have happened this year that have left a very nasty taste in gardeners’ mouths, and it isn’t the fruit and veg.

Our green babies are being attacked! Yes, that’s what I said. Attacked!

It began a couple of months ago: I noticed that my new hostas had been nibbled more than usual. My lupins had vanished completely, and even my marigolds were fighting for their lives.

Oh, I had a flaming good idea just who the culprits were, and I wasn’t having it.

No sir, I wasn’t going to just sit back and let them munch their way through my entire garden.

“This means war!” I shouted up the garden early one morning as I looked upon my plants, or should I say what was left of them.

I almost dropped my coffee cup, I was in such a state of shock.

“How could they?” I asked a very bewildered Pete. “Come on,” I ordered, for him to follow me outside, pointing a finger at the plants.

“They’re eaten!” I exclaimed.

The look of bewilderment grew across his face as he declared ‘well, it wasn’t me’. I obviously didn’t even bother to answer him, he clearly wasn’t taking this as seriously as I was.

I reached for my phone and brought up my gardening page. Oh no! It wasn’t just me, people all over have had their green babies eaten to death.

Right, no more Mrs Nice Guy… I proceeded into battle immediately. I tried putting tin foil around the tops of my plant pots. I asked in coffee shops for the coffee grounds that were left over and sprinkled them on the soil. I tried the copper tape.

I even made up a jug of garlic spray to spray the plants at night. But nothing worked. Then last week to my horror I came out of my front door and there in front of me was the most terrifying sight. It was enough to send any normal person back inside, locking the door behind them, grabbing for the tape to tape up their letterboxes.

It was like a scene from Alfred Hitchcock’s ‘The Birds. Our lawn was covered with… with… oh, I can hardly bring myself to say the word… SLUGS.

Yes, slugs. There were what seemed like thousands of the slimy blighters, slithering across the grass heading towards my pots. They weren’t even tiny, oh no, these were the godfather of slugs.

They were across the path, leaving their snotty slime behind them, but all heading in the same direction.

Well, I can tell you I wasn’t standing for this. I frantically began to collect my pots up and hurriedly carried them through to the back garden.

I stood in the front garden feeling very victorious.

“Ha! Not tonight sweethearts, you will have to find somewhere else to dine.”

I slammed the door but deep down in the roots of my soul, I knew they were watching and it was not over…