I’ll never forget the drive over to the Isle of Wight – or rather, the ferry crossing that nearly did me in. We’d set off from Portsmouth full of beans, sandwiches packed and the sat-nav promising smooth sailing. But as we queued for the Wightlink ferry, a cheeky gust whipped up, and before you know it, our picnic bag had tumbled right into the Solent. Goodbye, egg rolls! Still, laughing it off, we boarded, and the anticipation built as the island’s green cliffs came into view. By the time we rolled into Shanklin, I was buzzing – this was going to be our perfect walkers’ paradise.

Pulling up to the place, my first impressions were spot on. It’s a cracking three-bed apartment, tastefully furnished and stylishly done up, smack in the heart of this buzzy seaside town. Making a fabulous base for keen walkers, beach lovers and nature spotters discovering an idyllic corner of the Isle of Wight, it felt like a serene hideaway right where the action is. Shanklin Chine, that ancient wooded gorge with its waterfalls and dreamy scenery, is just a short stroll away, leading down to the golden sands along the esplanade. Couldn’t have asked for better.

Day one, the sun was out, playing the good British summer card. We laced up our boots and headed straight for the Chine – what a belter. The path winds through ferns and over little bridges, with water trickling everywhere. It’s like stepping into a Jurassic Park set, minus the dinos (thankfully). We emerged at the beach, toes in the sand, feeling like proper explorers. Afternoon called for a gentle cliff-top amble towards Ventnor – all sea views and wildflowers, with gulls wheeling overhead. Proper idyllic, that.

But oh, the weather – classic Isle of Wight, isn’t it? Next morning, I woke to that familiar patter on the window. Grey skies rolled in, turning our planned long coastal hike into a damp squib. No point battling horizontal rain along the cliffs; we’d end up looking like drowned rats. So, we pivoted to the gorge again, hoods up, turning it into a misty adventure. The waterfalls roared louder in the wet, and we spotted a few sneaky kingfishers darting about – nature’s way of saying ‘cheers for sticking it out’. Lunch was fish and chips from a beachfront spot, eaten under a brolly, which somehow tasted better in the drizzle.

By day three, the clouds parted for a cracker of a hike up to Appuldurcombe House ruins – just a couple of miles off, through rolling fields and ancient woods. The sun lit up the crumbling walls like something from a Brontë novel, and we picnicked (sans egg rolls this time) with views over the island. Reflecting on it now, those weather whims were a gentle nudge: sometimes the best bits aren’t the grand plans, but the soggy detours that make you appreciate a cosy apartment even more. Shanklin’s got it all for walkers – changeable skies and all – and we came home fitter, fizzed up, and already plotting the next trip. If you fancy a proper leg-stretch with a side of seaside charm, this is your spot.