I’ll never forget the drive down to Lyme Regis – one of those classic British road trips where everything starts off promising and then throws a cheeky spanner in the works. We’d piled into the car in Bristol, full of beans after a fry-up, with the sat-nav chirping away about a smooth three-hour run along the A35. But no, halfway through, the heavens opened, and we hit a massive tailback from some roadworks near Honiton. Cue me white-knuckling the wheel while the kids bickered over the last Haribo, and my other half cracking jokes about building an ark. By the time we rolled into town, we were knackered but buzzing with that holiday anticipation – you know, the bit where you imagine sun-drenched beaches and not a cloud in sight.

Pulling up to the place, my first impressions were spot on. It’s this cracking two-bedroom ground-floor apartment, all done up with coastal charm and a proper luxurious vibe – pet-friendly too, which was a godsend for our daft Labrador, Monty. Stepped inside to this bright open-plan living space, warm oak floors underfoot, sleek kitchen kitted out with all the mod cons including a Nespresso machine that had me grinning like a kid at Christmas. The lounge was perfect for kicking back with the telly or plotting our walks over a brew. It felt like home from home, right by the riverside path, seafront, and the buzz of the town’s shops and pubs.

We’d planned a proper Dorset walking adventure, inspired by those fossil-hunting trails you hear about. Day one, the weather played nice – rare for England! – with crisp blue skies as we ambled along the Riverside Walk, Monty sniffing every blade of grass. We pushed on to the Undercliff Path, that wild, tangled stretch towards Ware, dodging roots and peering at the crumbling cliffs for ammonites. It’s proper Jurassic Coast magic, innit? Felt like we’d stepped into a David Attenborough doc. Lunch was fish and chips from a takeaway on the seafront, eaten on a bench with gulls eyeing us up.

But oh, the British weather – it’s got a wicked sense of humour. Next morning, we woke to lashing rain and a gale howling off the Channel. Our big hike up Golden Cap? Scrubbed. Instead, we adapted like pros, layering up in waterproofs for a shorter riverside loop, splashing through puddles and laughing as Monty turned into a drowned rat. It forced us onto the town trails – past the Cobb, that iconic harbour wall (careful on the slippery stones!), and up to Church Cliffs for dramatic sea views through the mist. Turned out brilliant; the rain made everything smell amazing, like wet earth and salt, and we ducked into a cosy pub for hot chocolate and scones mid-way.

By the end of the week, we’d racked up miles of muddy boots and wind-lashed cheeks, but it was the best kind of holiday. There was this quiet moment on our last walk, staring out at the churning sea from the Undercliff, when I caught myself thinking: isn’t this what it’s all about? Not the perfect weather, but rolling with it, getting a bit windswept and properly connected. Lyme Regis and that ace apartment nailed it – we’re already plotting a return, come rain or shine.