I’ll never forget the drive down to Hope Cove – that classic British road trip where everything’s going swimmingly until it isn’t. We’d piled into the car in Bristol with the dogs bouncing about like they’d had a double espresso, the satnav promising a breezy two-and-a-half hours through Dartmoor’s misty edges. But no, halfway there, the heavens opened, and we hit a proper Devon downpour. Wipers on full whack, and poor Rufus decided it was the perfect moment to be sick all over the back seat. Cue emergency stop at a layby, me in wellies wiping up while the rain hammered the roof. Still, by the time we trundled into the village, I was buzzing with that holiday anticipation – you know, the bit where you imagine sun-drenched beaches and not a care in the world.

Pulling up to our luxury dog-friendly coastal apartment, I was gobsmacked. First impressions? Spot on. Tucked right into the cliffs with direct access onto the coast path, it felt like we’d stumbled into paradise. Sliding doors flung open, and there it was – the ocean crashing below, salty air rushing in. The place screamed comfort: a massive king bed piled high with plush linens that promised the kind of sleep you only get on holiday, plus all the practical bits like private parking, an outdoor shower for rinsing off sandy paws (and feet), and even EV charging if you’re that way inclined. The dogs were in heaven – two of them staying free, tails wagging like propellers. We could’ve set up the sofa beds too, but it was just us four-legged lot.

First morning, weather gods smiled: bright blue skies, perfect for hitting the coast path. We wandered straight out the door down to the beach in seconds, then tackled the clifftop hike towards Bolberry Down. It’s stunning – rugged cliffs dropping to golden sands, gulls wheeling overhead, the dogs charging ahead sniffing every tuft of grass. About four miles round trip, with views that make you forget the world. I felt a proper sense of peace there, you know? That gentle moment of reflection where you think, ‘Blimey, I needed this – too much screen time back home.’ Light-hearted laughs as Mabel tried (and failed) to chase waves, coming back drenched but deliriously happy.

But oh, the British weather – it’s got a wicked sense of humour. Day two, we’d planned the full coastal walk to Inner Hope and back, maybe five miles of undulating paths with sea spray and wildflowers. Forecast said ‘partly cloudy’, my foot. Mid-morning, it turned biblical – wind howling like a banshee, rain lashing sideways. We hunkered down with cups of tea, watching the storm rage from the cosy lounge, dogs sprawled on the rug. Laughed about it over pasties from the village shop (Hope Cove’s got a cracking little one). By afternoon, it cleared just enough for a shorter jaunt along the beach at low tide – puddles everywhere, but that fresh post-rain glow on the water was magic. Adapted on the fly: more indoor lounging, reading dog-eared paperbacks while the king bed called early.

Next day, blue skies again! We nailed the South Huish circular – three miles of coastal bliss, dipping into hidden coves, the path right from our door. Weather flipped like a pancake all week: one minute basking in unexpected sun, next dodging squalls that turned hikes into comedy scrambles for cover. It kept things exciting, forced us to savour the spontaneous bits – like that rainbow over the sea after a shower. Honestly, it was the perfect Devon escape: walks that cleared the head, weather that reminded you life’s unpredictable, and a spot so ideally placed you felt part of the coastline. Already plotting a return – dogs included.