Just got back from a cracking long weekend at this brilliant holiday cottage in Suffolk, and honestly, it was all about the walks – or at least, that's what I told myself when the British weather decided to play its usual tricks.

I'd booked this cosy little place near Aldeburgh, right on the edge of the Suffolk Coast Path. You know the sort: stone walls, wood-burning stove, and a garden that backs onto reed beds where seals occasionally pop up to say hello. Perfect for lacing up the boots and hitting the trails. Day one dawned bright and breezy – proper Suffolk sunshine, the kind that makes you forget it's England. I set off along the beach at low tide, sand firm underfoot, with the North Sea sparkling like it was on holiday too. The path winds past Martello towers and shingle banks, and I must've clocked five miles before lunch, spotting oystercatchers and even a few avocets in the marshes. Felt like a proper adventurer, wind in my hair, plotting a grand circular hike to Snape Maltings for the afternoon.

But oh, the weather. By teatime, the sky turned that moody grey, and the heavens opened. Proper horizontal rain, the sort that soaks through your "waterproof" jacket in minutes. There I was, hunkered down in the cottage with a cuppa, watching the garden flood and thinking, 'Well, that's my epic 10-miler tomorrow buggered.' Gentle self-reflection moment: maybe I should've checked the forecast instead of winging it like some optimistic fool. Still, silver lining – the cottage had these massive windows, so I could gaze out at the storm lashing the coast path while toasting crumpets. Cosy as anything.

Next morning, it was a game of roulette. Patches of blue tempted me out for a shorter stomp inland towards Sutton Hoo – you know, the Anglo-Saxon burial site with those haunting ship mounds. The air was crisp, mud squelching on the heathland paths, and I dodged a few cow pats while pondering ancient kings under a sky threatening more drama. Halfway round, cue the drizzle. Not full-on rain, but that fine misty stuff that leaves you damp and philosophical. Plans to extend to Woodbridge? Scrapped. Instead, I looped back early, laughing at myself for packing factor 50 when thermals would've been smarter.

The weather kept us on our toes the whole time – one minute striding the cliffs at Dunwich with gulls wheeling overhead in glorious sun, the next retreating from Thorpeness windmill as a squall rolled in off the sea. It forced shorter, sweeter hikes, but that's Suffolk's charm, isn't it? Those endless, changeable skies turning every outing into an adventure. Reflecting on it now, I wouldn't swap it for guaranteed sun elsewhere. There's something brilliantly alive about battling the elements on those coastal paths, pint of Adnams waiting back at the cottage. If you're after walks with a side of British stoicism, book it. Just pack wellies.