I’ll never forget the drive up to County Durham last month – me behind the wheel of our battered old Fiesta, sat-nav insisting we were nearly there, only for a cheeky sheep to dart out on a narrow lane near Bishop Auckland, forcing me into an emergency brake that sent our crisps flying everywhere. Heart racing, we laughed it off, but it set the tone for a proper North East adventure. As we wound through the rolling hills, anticipation bubbled up; I’d been dreaming of this historic Grade II star listed castle, part of English Heritage, and its unique ground floor apartment tucked away in the grounds. Pulling up, my first impressions were spot on – cosy charm everywhere you looked, with that magical sense of stepping into history without the tourist crowds.

We arrived mid-afternoon under a surprisingly bright sky, perfect for unpacking and plotting our walking routes. County Durham’s got some cracking paths right on the doorstep, and staying here meant we could lace up our boots and head out from the grounds themselves. First day, we ambled along the nearby riverside trails by the Wear, the sun warming our faces as we chatted about nothing much. It felt like proper holiday bliss – birdsong, fresh air, and not a care in the world. I even managed a daft little skip when we spotted a family of otters playing in the shallows. But oh, the British weather, eh? By evening, clouds rolled in thick and fast, turning our planned pub stroll into a dash back for tea and board games by the fire.

Next morning, I woke to rain lashing the windows – classic Durham, where forecasts are more suggestion than promise. No point moping; we rugged up in waterproofs and hit the trails around the castle estate anyway. The paths turned muddy slicks, but that just made it more fun, slipping and giggling like kids. We looped through ancient woodland, the kind where trees whisper secrets, and emerged at a viewpoint over the valley, mist swirling dramatically. It was one of those moments that had me reflecting – rushing through life back home, I forget how good it feels to let the weather dictate the day, to just breathe and be.

The weather kept us on our toes all week. One glorious afternoon, we tackled a longer hike up to the high fells nearby, wild winds whipping our cheeks as panoramic views of heather moorland unfolded. Picnics in the shelter of drystone walls became our ritual, cheese butties tasting better than any restaurant. But come day three, a downpour turned our gentle riverside ramble into an impromptu splash-fest; we sheltered under a massive oak, rain drumming like percussion, sharing stories until it eased. It forced us to improvise – shorter loops through the grounds, discovering hidden nooks we’d have missed otherwise.

By the end, soaked socks and all, I was smitten. Those weather-whipped walks etched Durham into my heart – unpredictable, beautiful, and utterly real. If you fancy a holiday that’s more about the journey than the plan, this is the spot. We’re already plotting a return, come rain or shine.