WEDNESDAY night was wet. Dropping down a hill near Northallerton on my way back from Kirby Sigston WI, my car was hit by the most torrential two minutes of rain that I can remember.

The double speed wipers were useless, the drumming noise of the rain pellets drowned out the radio, and, in the headlights, the road looked like a boiling river of jumping fish.

I made it safely home, had my tea, and as the closing credits of Newsnight rolled, went to the kitchen to return my glass, ready for bed.

But, as I flicked the switch, the light revealed that sitting on the marble kitchen worktop was a large slimily rubbery slug. It was a motley green colour, probably four inches long, and it was waving its tentacles at the bread board.

The mystery was where it had come from. I looked for clues, but there were no giveaway slug trails. It was just lying there, eyeing up the bread board, as if it had stealthily parachuted in from above – perhaps it was a member of the SAS (Special Air Slugs).

Slugs, though, are not noted for their cunning or their speed. The word “slug” means “slow”, and until the 18th Century any slow animal was called a slug . Shakespeare uses a great insult in Romeo and Juliet: a “slugabed”, one who is slow in getting up. Whatever time of day I go in my teenage daughter’s bedroom and find her wrapped round in her duvet, I’m always reminded of my Shakespearian studies.

There are at least 30 other species of slug in this country, but they can be difficult to identify. The Great Black Slug can be red, orange, brown or grey as well as black, and the Great Grey Slug is often green.

But the one terrorising the bread board with its tentacles may well have been a “Spanish Stealth Slug” – it must get its name from its ability to launch its sneak one-slug slime waves on unguarded kitchen utensils.

The Spanish Stealth Slug is also known as the Durham Slug because its invasion of England began in 1952 – the sluggish equivalent of 1066 – when it was discovered living in Durham City.

Warm winters and its ability to mate with the Great Black Slug mean that it is becoming increasingly common – this is the second time I’ve thwarted its attempts to conquer our kitchen.

I picked it up in a tissue and threw it out into the teeming rain.

Next morning, rippling furiously along the doorstep and waving its tentacles angrily through the window was a large, plump brown slug. It seemed to be protesting about my callous treatment of its friend, but I still have very little sympathy for slugs.

THE night before my encounter with the slug, I’d been driving home distractedly, and found myself in the wrong lane outside darlingtons sainsburys. I was mixed up with the slow traffic turning left into the supermarket. Bah, I thought, crawling sluggishly along, I've made a pig’s ear of this.

Then, as I reached the grange road roundabout, I noticed the number plate of the car in front: P16 EAR.

It must have been deliberate. Perhaps the owner is a silk purse manufacturer.