I’ll never forget the drive down to Newquay – what should’ve been a straightforward motorway slog from Bristol turned into a comedy of errors when we hit a massive tailback just past Exeter. Rain lashing the windscreen, queues stretching for miles, and me cursing the satnav for promising we’d arrive by teatime. Two hours late, we finally rolled into Cornwall, hearts sinking a bit at the grey skies, but buzzing with that proper holiday anticipation. Would the place live up to the pics? As we pulled up, though, first impressions were spot on: a smart, modern holiday home tucked away in a quiet spot, all cosy vibes with a cracking hot tub out back. Slept six easy, pet-friendly too – our labrador Monty was in heaven sniffing every corner.

Next morning, we laced up our boots for a proper coastal hike along the South West Coast Path, starting right from Newquay’s Towan Head. The forecast had lied through its teeth – blue skies, not a cloud in sight, and that fresh sea breeze whipping off the Atlantic. We tramped past Fistral Beach, waves crashing like they were putting on a show just for us, stopping for pasties from a beachside van that were still warm and stuffed with proper chunky beef. Monty bounded ahead, chasing gulls, while we chatted about nothing much, proper unwinding. Felt brilliant, that first proper stretch after the drive.

But oh, British weather – it’s got a wicked sense of humour. By afternoon, as we aimed for a longer loop towards Porth Beach, the heavens opened. Sudden as you like, fat raindrops turning the path into a slippy mudslide. We sheltered under a rocky outcrop, laughing at our soggy state, coats plastered, hair plastered. Plans for a full afternoon hike? Scrapped. Instead, we squelched back, fired up the hot tub (thank goodness for that), and soaked while the storm raged. Monty curled up nearby, looking at us like we were daft for even trying.

Undeterred, we tried again the next day, heading out early to Crantock Beach for a gentler wander across dunes and up to the headland. Weather held – mostly – with dramatic clouds scudding by, turning the sea every shade of moody grey. We spotted seals bobbing offshore, and I had one of those moments, you know? Standing there, wind in my face, thinking how I’d been glued to my desk back home, stressing over deadlines. Holidays like this remind you life’s too short not to chase horizons, even if they come with a soaking.

By week’s end, we’d notched up miles of coastal paths – from quiet coves to clifftop views – all within easy walking distance. Weather flipped from sun to squalls like it was auditioning for a mood swing contest, forcing impromptu pub stops at The Towan Seacrest for a pint and a bag of chips. Made the whole trip, that unpredictability. Back home now, I’m already plotting the next Cornish jaunt. Boots at the ready – bring it on, whatever the skies throw.