I’ll never forget the drive down to Sandgate last month – me, my mate Dave, and a boot full of crisps and wellies, singing along to some dodgy 90s tunes. We’d planned a proper coastal getaway, all about those bracing Kent walks, but about 20 minutes from Folkestone, the heavens opened. Biblical rain, the sort that turns your windscreen wipers into a blur. Dave, bless him, insisted on navigating via his phone, which promptly lost signal, and we ended up looping round Hythe like a pair of lost puppies. A right faff, but we laughed it off over emergency service station coffees, toasting to whatever adventures awaited.

Pulling up outside this cracking beachfront apartment, hearts racing with that arrival buzz, we were gobsmacked. It’s this sleek, newly done-up place split over two floors, right on the esplanade in Sandgate village. First impressions? Spot on – we parked up easy enough on the roadside (first-come, first-served, no drama), hauled our bags up to the first-floor entrance, then half a flight of stairs to a tidy bathroom before dropping down to the lower level. The kitchen-diner screamed “cook-up-a-storm,” and through to the sitting room, that massive bay window framed the sea like a postcard. France twinkling in the distance come evening – pure magic.

We were there for the walks, you see. Kent’s south coast is a walker’s dream, with Sandgate’s long shingle beach stretching out for picnics and paddles, and those historic Martello Towers dotted along like concrete sentinels. Day one, weather played nice – bright and blustery. We ambled along the esplanade past the village’s cosy shops and pubs, then pushed on towards Folkestone’s harbour. Two miles of pure coastal path, waves crashing, gulls wheeling overhead. Stopped for fish and chips wrapped in paper, eaten on a bench with salty breezes whipping our faces. Felt alive, you know?

But oh, the British weather – it’s got a wicked sense of humour. Next morning, grey skies rolled in, turning our ambitious hike to Hythe into a soggy scramble. Instead of the full coastal trail with its AONB views, we improvised: a shorter beach ramble right from the door, dodging puddles and laughing as Dave’s trainers turned to squelch-fest. Rain hammered down, forcing us back for a cheeky brew in the sitting room, feet up by the faux fireplace, TV on low. Upstairs, the king-size bedroom’s sea views were our rainy-day solace – I nipped into the quirky trundle spot for a read, cosy as you like, while the twin room next door begged for a kip.

By afternoon, it cleared just enough for another go. We tackled the Sandgate-to-Folkestone promenade again, this time spotting seals bobbing offshore. Weather flipped from drizzle to sunbursts, plans shifting on a dime – one minute beachcombing, next sheltering in a harbour café. It made me reflect, mid-stride along that shingle, how these changeable days are what holidays are about. Not rigid itineraries, but rolling with it, like the Channel tides. Back at the apartment, rustling up pasta in the contemporary kitchen, swapping tales over dinner with the sea glowing outside – perfection.

Kent’s walks delivered, weather quirks and all. If you fancy a base for hiking this stretch, you won’t go wrong here. Proper tonic for the soul.