I’ll never forget the drive to Hunstanton last summer – we’d piled into the car from Cambridge, kids buzzing in the back with crisps and iPads, me navigating via a dodgy phone signal. About halfway, disaster struck: a wrong turn onto some narrow lane had us stuck behind a tractor belching smoke for what felt like hours. I was sweating, convinced we’d miss check-in, but eventually we popped out near the coast, hearts racing with that mix of relief and excitement. As we pulled up, there it was – this superb, spacious apartment over two floors, just a short stroll from Hunstanton’s centre. First impressions? Blown away. Sea views from the living area and that exceptional loft bedroom had us grinning like idiots; three bedrooms plus a sofa bed meant plenty of space for our family of five and my mate’s lad tagging along.

We dumped the bags and headed out, anticipation bubbling – what hidden delights did North Norfolk have up its sleeve? Hunstanton’s buzzed with its usual beach huts and arcade lights, but we weren’t here for the obvious. Day one, we wandered off the high street, got properly lost down a side path by the cliffs, and stumbled on this tucked-away pebble beach where the groynes create these perfect little rockpool lagoons. No crowds, just us poking at crabs and anemones while the tide whispered in. The kids declared it magic; I felt like a proper explorer, not the usual dad faffing with sun cream.

Next morning, fueled by the apartment’s cracking kitchen (we whipped up bacon butties with a sea view), we veered inland a bit, following a whim past the golf course. Lost again – brilliant. Ended up at this secret scrubby path leading to Old Hunstanton’s dunes, a wilder stretch where seals sometimes flop about. We didn’t spot any that day, but the marram grass whispering and vast sky made it feel like our private wilderness. Picnicked on pasties from a no-frills bakery we’d found by accident en route – flaky, steaming, proper job.

Afternoon took us ambling along the promenade, but we ducked off at the first quiet turning, chasing a glimpse of striped cliffs. Bingo: a hidden cove with fossil-hunting potential, waves gnawing at the chalky edges. I spent ages chin-deep in the shingle, unearthing devil’s toenails while the others built epic sand forts. Light humour in there too – I slipped on seaweed, emerged looking like a drowned otter, and the family howled. “Smooth, Dad!” Cue gentle eye-roll from me: holidays like this remind you to ditch the sat-nav, embrace the muddle. It’s in the getting lost you find the real Norfolk gems, those off-the-beaten-track spots that stick in your soul.

Evenings back at the apartment were bliss – lounging in the sitting room, dining area spilling into sea-gazing, stairs creaking underfoot like an old friend. We’d debrief our discoveries over fish and chips, plotting the next detour. Hunstanton’s North Norfolk coastline is full of these accidental treasures if you let yourself wander. Can’t wait to go back and lose ourselves all over again.