We set off from Newcastle in high spirits, the boot crammed with walking boots, waterproofs and far too many snacks, only to discover half an hour later that I’d left the cottage keys on the kitchen table. A quick u-turn and a sheepish call to the owner sorted it, but the delay meant we rolled into Alnmouth just as the tide was turning and the first fat drops of rain began to speckle the windscreen.

Riverview sits right on the edge of the village, its big picture window framing the wide sweep of Alnmouth Bay like a living postcard. The moment we stepped inside, sandy footprints from previous guests still lingered by the door and the faint smell of sea air mixed with fresh coffee greeted us. We dumped our bags, shrugged on light jackets and decided the weather could hardly get worse, so we might as well head straight out.

The coastal path starts practically at the bottom of the garden. Within minutes we were striding north along the grassy clifftop, the North Sea glinting pewter-grey beneath shifting clouds. Gulls wheeled overhead, their cries carrying on the breeze, and every so often a shaft of sunlight broke through to turn the wet grass into a carpet of tiny diamonds. We paused at a bench overlooking the dunes, watching a couple of surfers in wetsuits bobbing beyond the breakers, and congratulated ourselves on dodging the worst of the showers.

Half an hour later the sky had other ideas. A sudden squall swept in from the north-east, forcing us to shelter behind a drystone wall while fat raindrops pelted our jackets. We laughed at our optimism, pulled hoods tighter and waited it out with a shared chocolate bar that quickly turned to a soggy mess. When the rain eased we carried on, boots squelching, until the path dipped down to the long sandy stretch just south of the village. Here the tide was out far enough to let us wander across firm, rippled sand, finding pieces of sea glass and laughing at the optimistic dogs charging into the shallows.

By the time we climbed back up to Riverview the clouds had thinned to high streaks of white and watery sunlight was warming the cottage walls. We kicked off muddy boots on the little patio, brewed tea and watched the last of the showers drift out to sea. Sitting there, mug in hand, I realised the day hadn’t gone to plan at all, yet it felt exactly right: a proper Northumberland welcome that reminded me sometimes the best adventures are the ones that start with a forgotten key and a change of weather.