I’ll never forget the drive down from Bristol that crisp autumn morning—rain lashing the windscreen like it had a personal grudge, and then, just as we hit the outskirts of Bath, the sat-nav decided to throw a wobbly and sent us looping round a one-way system twice. Typical me, hadn’t double-checked the route properly. Still, by the time we pulled up, the clouds were parting like they’d got the memo, and there it was: this gorgeous townhouse on a quiet street, all period charm with a modern twist, right in the thick of things near the Royal Crescent and Royal Victoria Park. First impressions? Spot on. Spacious, welcoming, and screaming “kick back and explore.”

We’d barely unpacked when the sun peeked out properly, so off we went for a wander up to the Royal Crescent—those sweeping Georgian terraces are even more jaw-dropping up close. From there, it was straight into Royal Victoria Park, dodging joggers and letting the kids burn off some energy on the open lawns. The plan was ambitious: a proper hike up to Bathwick Hill for those cracking views over the city. The weather held—crisp breeze, golden leaves crunching underfoot—and we puffed our way up the paths, laughing at my rubbish pacing. “You’re slower than a pensioner at bingo,” my mate teased. At the top, Bath unfolded below like a postcard, all honey-coloured rooftops and the river snaking through. Pure magic.

Next day, though, the British weather pulled its classic trick. Blue skies turned to mizzle in a heartbeat as we set off for a circular walk around Prior Park Landscape Garden—just a short stroll from the house. Umbrellas up, hoods down, repeat. We squelched along the valley paths, past the famous bridge that looks like it’s straight out of a Jane Austen novel. The rain actually added to it, turning everything misty and romantic. Sheltered under a massive oak, we munched soggy sandwiches and chatted about how these spontaneous changes keep you on your toes. No grand adventures abroad needed when your own backyard throws curveballs like this.

By afternoon, it had cleared again, so we looped back via Widcombe Hill—steeper than it looks, mind you, leaving my calves screaming. Paused at a bench overlooking the allotments, watching locals potter about. That’s when I had a proper moment: sat there, knackered but buzzing, thinking how daft it is we don’t do this more often. Work, screens, the daily grind—it all feels miles away up here. Instead of ticking off tourist boxes, these walks let Bath sink in proper, rain and all.

Our last morning? A gentle ramble through the park again, chasing that fleeting sunshine. The townhouse was the perfect base—cosy for drying off, big enough for us lot to sprawl without tripping over each other. If you’re after a holiday that’s equal parts fresh air and flexibility, with weather as your cheeky co-pilot, this is it. Bath’s hikes are brilliant, and stumbling back to a cracking spot like that each time? Can’t beat it. We’re already plotting the next one.