We’d barely made it past Cromer when the satnav decided to play silly beggars and sent us down a single-track lane that ended in a farmyard full of very surprised sheep. By the time we’d reversed out and found the right turn for Northrepps, the boot was half unpacked across the back seat and someone’s flip-flop had vanished under the passenger seat. Still, the cottage looked every bit as welcoming as the photos when we finally pulled up: a solid brick place with a little gravel drive and the sea breeze already tugging at the curtains in an upstairs window.

After a quick cuppa on the patio we decided the weather looked kind enough for a proper walk, so we set off along the coastal path towards Overstrand. The sky was that bright, washed-out blue you only seem to get on the east coast when the sun’s trying its best, and we’d packed a picnic of local crab sandwiches and a flask of tea. The path hugs the low cliffs with wide views across the sand, and it felt good to stretch our legs after the drive. We’d only gone a mile or so when a fat bank of cloud rolled in from the sea and the first fat drops started to fall. Within minutes it was a proper Norfolk downpour, the sort that soaks you through before you can even think about turning back.

We laughed, because what else can you do, and sheltered under a scruffy hawthorn hedge while the rain hammered the path into little rivers. By the time it eased we were both dripping and the sandwiches had gone a bit soggy, but the air smelled incredible—fresh and salty—and we carried on anyway, shoes squelching with every step. Further along the beach we found a stretch of firm sand perfect for a barefoot paddle, the water still shockingly cold even in late summer. We ended up sitting on a breakwater, eating slightly damp crisps and watching a couple of brave souls trying to fly a kite in the gusty wind.

Back at the cottage we peeled off wet clothes, hung everything over the radiators, and made another round of tea while the windows steamed up. There’s something oddly satisfying about getting caught out like that; it reminds you that you’re not really in charge of the day, no matter how carefully you plan the route. We’d meant to explore the little lanes inland as well, but the sudden shower had shifted everything, and instead we spent the rest of the afternoon drying out and swapping stories about other holidays ruined by rain that somehow turned into the best ones. By evening the sky had cleared again, and from the upstairs window we could just see the last of the sun catching the waves.