I’ll never forget the drive down to Bury St Edmunds last month – we’d packed the car with enough crisps and thermos flasks to see us through a siege, but about 20 minutes from the A14, the sat-nav decided to throw a wobbly and sent us looping round some back lane that looked like it hadn’t seen tarmac since the war. A classic British road trip mishap, complete with a cow staring us down as if we were intruders. Still, by the time we pulled up, my heart was racing with that proper holiday buzz – you know, the one where you’re dying to kick off your shoes and dive into whatever’s waiting.

Stepping into our beautifully presented contemporary first-floor apartment in a Grade II listed Georgian townhouse, I was chuffed to bits. It slept four adults comfy as you like, right in the heart of the Medieval Grid, overlooking St Mary’s Church, Honey Hill, and The Norman Tower. First impressions? Spot on – sleek, modern vibes in a historic setting, with views that had us glued to the windows before we’d even unpacked. Perfect for an urban getaway in this buzzing market town, and from the off, it screamed ‘walking heaven’.

We’d planned epic hikes across Suffolk’s trails, starting with a jaunt up Honey Hill for those panoramic views over the town’s rooftops. The weather gods were smiling that first morning – crisp blue skies, not a cloud in sight. We wandered the grid’s wonky lanes, past half-timbered pubs and the abbey ruins, then pushed out to the river paths along the Lark, spotting herons and chatting with dog-walkers who all seemed to know the best picnic spots. Lunch was a cheeky ploughman’s from the market, scoffed on a bench with the church bells chiming away. Pure bliss.

But oh, the British weather – it’s got a wicked sense of humour, doesn’t it? By day two, the forecast flipped from sunny intervals to ‘heavy showers imminent’, and sure enough, we were midway up the trails towards Nowton Park when the heavens opened. Sodden socks and all, we dashed for cover under some trees, laughing like idiots as hailstones pinged off our hoods. Plans for a full-day hike to the countryside edges? Scrapped. Instead, we pivoted to urban wanders – looping back through the grid, popping into cosy tearooms on Angel Hill for steaming pots of builder’s tea and cake that could cure any damp mood. It forced us to slow down, really soak in the town’s vibe: the market stalls hawking local cheeses, street performers juggling in the drizzle, and that Norman Tower looming like a grumpy sentinel.

Day three brought a misty drizzle that turned our ambitious West Suffolk trails into a no-go, so we stuck local – a gentle circuit around the cathedral gardens and up to the castle mound, where the views through the fog felt mysteriously magical. I’ll admit, trudging back rain-lashed and craving a hot bath, I had a quiet moment of self-reflection: why do I always pack for summer when Suffolk’s trails are at their best in this moody, ever-changing clobber? It’s the unpredictability that makes it, though – those surprise rainbows after the downpour, the way the wet paths smell of earth and adventure.

We clocked up miles on foot regardless, from grid alleys to parkland fringes, and that apartment was our cosy base, kettle on repeat. Suffolk’s walking country delivered, weather and all – mishaps included. Can’t wait to go back, next time with better waterproofs.