I’ll never forget the drive down to Carlyon Bay – we’d packed the car to bursting with wellies, waterproofs and enough tea bags to sink a ship, buzzing with that proper holiday anticipation. Me and the missus, plus my mate Dave and his lad, were dead excited for a few days of coastal wanders. But about 20 miles from Par, the heavens opened and our windscreen wipers were working overtime. Worse, I took a wrong turn onto some tiny lane that had me reversing into a hedge – classic me, always the navigator who thinks he knows better than the sat-nav. Dave was in stitches, calling it my annual “scenic detour”. Still, we arrived laughing, and as we pulled into the gated development, the first impressions were spot on. This gorgeous ground-floor apartment was just what we needed – step-free, super handy for us lot, with a king-size bedroom and a twin, all cosily done out and right by the beach.

The location blew us away. Over just 300 metres to the sand, and the pub a cheeky 25-metre stroll – perfect. We could hear the waves from the balcony, and those stunning walks on the South West Coast Path were literally on the doorstep. First morning, the sun cracked through, so we laced up and headed out along the path towards Par Beach. The views were cracking – rugged cliffs plunging into turquoise sea, gulls wheeling overhead, and wildflowers nodding in the breeze. We proper yomped it, about four miles out and back, stopping for pasties from a beach kiosk (proper job, none of your tourist tat). Dave’s lad was in his element, skimming stones like a pro, while I pretended I wasn’t knackered.

But oh, the British weather – it’s got a right sense of humour, hasn’t it? Come afternoon, the fog rolled in thick as clotted cream, turning the path into a misty adventure. We’d planned a longer hike over to the headland for sunset, but suddenly it was lashing down, wind howling like a banshee. Plans scuppered, we dashed back, soaked to the skin, giggling like kids. Holed up in the apartment with cups of tea and a card game, it felt brilliant – proper hygge, Cornish style. Next day, blue skies again, so we tried the cliff-top loop towards the luxury hotel up the way. That golf course looked lush, but we stuck to the path, dodging puddles and spotting seals bobbing offshore. The changing light on the water was magic, and we even managed a cheeky pint at the pub before the rain threatened once more.

Reflecting on it now, sat back home with a cuppa, I reckon that’s the joy of Cornwall – you can’t out-plan the weather, but it forces you to adapt, and somehow the best bits happen anyway. Those walks, rain or shine, left us buzzing, lungs full of sea air and bellies full of laughs. Carlyon Bay’s got me hooked; we’re already plotting a return, wellies at the ready.