I’ll never forget the drive down to Minehead – sat nav insisting we take the scenic route through those twisty Exmoor lanes, only for us to hit a massive cow-induced traffic jam just outside Porlock. There we were, me and my other half, honking the horn like amateurs while a herd of the cheekiest bovines strolled across like they owned the road. Half an hour later, we finally rolled up, hearts racing a bit from the delay, but buzzing with that proper holiday anticipation. What a first impression, though – parking dead easy in the private spot right outside, and stepping into this ground-floor apartment felt like instant home. Stylish open-plan living with neutral tones, two plush sofas begging us to flop down, and a telly ready for Strictly reruns. Perfect for a cosy couple’s getaway, beach just a hop away, and the railway station nearby if we fancied a jaunt.

We’d packed for Somerset’s classic weather roulette – one minute sun, next a downpour – and it didn’t disappoint. Day one, blue skies lured us out for a gentle stroll along Minehead’s sandy beach. Feet in the sea, ice creams dripping faster than the waves, laughing at how I’d forgotten my hat and ended up with a lobster nose. But come afternoon, clouds rolled in like they’d been personally offended, so we dashed back for sofa lounging, plotting tomorrow’s hike.

Next morning, proper walking boots on, we tackled the South West Coast Path from Minehead towards Culver Cliff. That path’s a belter – rolling hills, gorse buzzing with bees, and sea views that make you forget the uphill slog. We puffed our way up, me pretending I wasn’t knackered, her snapping pics of gulls wheeling overhead. Halfway, the mist descended, turning it all misty and mysterious, like we’d stumbled into a Brontë novel. Gentle self-reflection hit me then: why do I always bite off more than I can chew on these hikes? Still, we made it to the top, rewarded with a rainbow arching over the Bristol Channel. Picnicked on pasties from the local bakery – flaky, steaming, utterly glorious.

British weather’s a right joker, mind. Day three, we’d earmarked a jaunt to Dunster via the old packhorse trails – about three miles of woodland paths, ancient vibes everywhere. Set off optimistic, but halfway through, the heavens opened. Sheets of rain hammered down, turning the tracks to mudslides. We slipped and slid, giggling like kids, me channelising my inner Bear Grylls with a rubbish branch for a walking stick. Sheltered under a massive oak, we waited it out, sharing a thermos of tea and pondering life’s little curveballs. Plans B’d to a beachfront amble once it cleared, wind-whipped but exhilarating, salt spray in our faces.

By week’s end, we’d racked up miles of coastal paths and beach wanders, weather dictating every twist. Those sudden showers forced us to slow down, savour the apartment’s warmth, and chat more than we had in ages. Minehead’s walks are pure magic – unpredictable, just like us. Can’t wait to go back and let the rain decide again.