I’ll never forget the drive down to North Devon – we piled into the car from Bristol, full of excitement for a mates’ getaway, only for me to take a wrong turn just past Crediton and end up on some narrow lane that had us white-knuckling it through a herd of cows. Classic me, always the navigator who thinks sat-navs are for amateurs. Still, by the time we rolled up to this gorgeous luxury cottage on the Corffe Estate near Tawstock, the sun was peeking out, and my heart lifted. Sleeping up to ten, it was spot-on for our rowdy group of eight – all cosy nooks, big sofas, and that promise of unwinding after the chaos.

First impressions? Blimey, it was love at first sight. Tucked on the edge of five acres of grounds, with a shared heated indoor pool and all-weather tennis court right there, it felt like our own little haven, just a quick hop from Barnstaple. We dumped the bags and headed straight out for a wander around the estate paths – the anticipation had been building all week, and that fresh Devon air hit like a tonic.

Day one was a belter, proper blue skies, so we laced up and tackled the trails around Tawstock. There’s something magical about those gentle estate walks, weaving through woods and past babbling streams, with views opening up to the rolling fields. We clocked a good five miles, laughing about nothing, stopping for pics of cheeky ponies eyeing us up. By evening, we were back at the cottage, pool-dipping and cracking open tins, knackered but buzzing.

But oh, British weather – it’s got a wicked sense of humour, doesn’t it? Next morning, the heavens opened, turning our grand plan for a coastal hike to Croyde Bay into a non-starter. “Sod it,” I said, channeling my inner optimist, “let’s make the most of what’s on our doorstep.” We rugged up and hit the estate again, this time in full waterproofs. The paths turned muddy, but there’s a thrill in that – splashing through puddles, dodging sudden downpours under the trees. We discovered hidden spots we’d missed before, like a secluded pond alive with dragonflies, and even improvised a game of poohsticks on a swollen brook. It forced us to slow down, chat properly, no distractions.

The weather kept us on our toes the whole trip. One afternoon, it cleared just enough for a stomp over to the nearby Tawstock woods – proper North Devon ruggedness, with ferns brushing our knees and that earthy smell after rain. We pushed on through a light drizzle, emerging triumphant and soaked, straight into the indoor pool for a warm-up. Another day, gales whipped up, so we stuck local, circling the grounds in circles, inventing daft challenges like “longest stick ever.” I had a quiet moment then, leaning on a gate watching the rain lash the fields, thinking how these unplanned jaunts beat any Instagram-perfect hike. Life’s too short for rigid plans; sometimes the soggy detours are the best bits.

By the end, we’d walked miles – estate loops in the wet, sunny ambles when it played nice – and it bonded us like nothing else. North Devon’s got that pull: wild, forgiving, always up for another go, rain or shine. Can’t wait to go back.