I’ll never forget the drive down to south Devon last month – me behind the wheel of our trusty old estate car, sat-nav chirping away like it knew better than the winding lanes. We’d set off from Bristol full of beans, dreaming of that classic coastal escape, but about an hour in, disaster struck: a rogue pheasant decided to play chicken with the bonnet. Feathers everywhere, heart in my mouth, and a quick pull-over to check for damage. Miraculously, just a scratch, but it had us laughing nervously about our wildlife welcoming committee. Still, the anticipation built as we dipped into those lush Devon hills, the sea air sneaking through the windows promising proper holiday vibes.

Pulling up to this stunning romantic bolthole – an exclusive luxury apartment that encapsulates seclusion and style in one of the top spots in south Devon – I was bowled over. With the emphasis on comfort, this outstanding couple’s escape was the perfect place to kick off your shoes and relax, beaches, coast path and excellent pubs and beach cafes just a stroll away. From the moment we stepped in, it felt like a hug: plush sofas, sea views from every window, and that cosy hum of waves in the distance. First impressions? Spot on. We dumped the bags and cracked open a bottle of local cider, toasting to ditching the daily grind.

The plan was all about walking – Hope Cove’s right on our doorstep, so we laced up our boots for the coast path straight away. Day one dawned crisp and sunny, perfect for the hike to Bolberry Down. That stretch is pure magic: gorse buzzing with bees, cliffs plunging to turquoise water, and not a soul in sight. We puffed up the hills, spotting seals lounging on the rocks below, me snapping rubbish photos on my phone while she pointed out every wildflower. Lunch was fish and chips from a beach cafe, eaten on the sand with gritty fingers – bliss.

But this is Devon, innit? British weather’s got a mind of its own. Next morning, the forecast lied through its teeth: blue skies turned to mizzle by breakfast, then proper horizontal rain by elevenses. Our ambitious trek to Prawle Point? Scrubbed. Instead, we adapted like pros – a shorter loop along the clifftops to Galmpton, hoods up, giggling as we dodged puddles the size of small ponds. The wind whipped our cheeks rosy, but there’s something alive about it, that raw coastal battering. We ducked into a pub mid-hike for a pint of bitter and a ploughman’s, steam rising off our coats as we swapped stories with locals about the “summer squall”. Proper character-building stuff.

By afternoon, it cleared just enough for a gentle beach ramble back in Hope Cove, collecting driftwood and skimming stones till our arms ached. One evening, as the sun dipped low (finally playing ball), we wandered the coast path at golden hour, hands linked, watching the light dance on the waves. Sat there on a bench, I had a quiet moment of self-reflection: life’s too short for desk jobs and drama. These simple walks, rain or shine, with the right person and a cracking bolthole to return to – that’s the real recharge.

We came home windswept, fitter, and fancying another go already. Devon’s coast path adventures? Unbeatable, weather and all.