It feels a little confessional, unveiling the work I have been doing on this garden. I’ve had no outside help, no hard landscapers, no garden designers, nothing. Just me, some scribbles and lists on scraps of paper. And a husband who likes chopping up old pallets and reincarnating them as compost heaps and raised beds.

So I know that as I show you the Garden from Scratch after 10 months, you might not fall over yourself with awe. But please bear in mind that we dug this garden from a scrappy menagerie of grumpy plants and weeds all by ourselves. Both working long hours (or, in Toby’s case, almost every hour), both graduates with more student debt than we care to think of, and both mildly derided by other, older gardeners for having the temerity to make our own garden.

All this defence masks a great deal of pride. I love this garden. And I feel I should. It is wholly ours. We designed it, stripped it down, dug out sacks of rubble from the beds, planted everything save three shrubs, weeded, composted, and watched.

We took our time. There was a point, in fact, when I was tempted to give it up. I had spent four weekends riddling the soil for stones, in between staring blankly at law textbooks and howling at my shorthand tapes. My back ached every morning as I rose at six for college. A neighbour leant over his fence and pointed out all the jobs which were left. Another neighbour’s kitten adopted the parsnip bed as a toilet. Some tramps started throwing leftover kebabs on the compost heap.

But now I am proud, and relieved. There is still so much to do. We have plans to dig up the concrete runing down the left hand side of the garden and train espalier fruit trees along the fence. A magnolia – at Toby’s request – will make an appearance in the autumn. And being a garden from scratch rather than a makeover garden, everything is still rather small and eager. But at the moment – if you’ll allow me – I’m wriggling my toes with happiness that my garden is coming together.