I’ll never forget the drive down to Weymouth last August – proper summer holiday vibes, but of course, I managed to cock it up a bit right from the start. We’d piled into the car in the early morning, kids buzzing in the back with their buckets and spades, me dreaming of sandy toes and fish and chips. But halfway through Dorset, the sat-nav decided to throw a wobbly, sending us on a daft detour through some narrow lanes that had me white-knuckling the wheel past hedges taller than the car. “Are we there yet?” came the chorus, and I nearly lost it, but we laughed it off with a quick stop for ice creams at a farm shop. By the time we rolled into town, the sun was blazing, and that salty sea air hit us like a promise of pure bliss. My heart lifted – this was going to be mint.

Pulling up to our third-floor apartment, right in the thick of Weymouth’s buzzing centre, I was chuffed to bits. Permit parking sorted in a flash, and lugging the bags up those stairs felt like a small price for the view waiting at the top. It’s one of those charming spots perfect for a family like ours – two cosy double bedrooms that screamed “crash out and recharge,” and a sleek shower room to rinse off the beach grit. The kitchen was a proper gem too, kitted out with everything a self-appointed holiday chef like me could want. First impressions? Spot on. From the balcony, you could practically taste the sea, with the beach just a hop away.

Summer in Weymouth is magic, innit? The season turned everything up to eleven. We hit Weymouth Beach first thing, the sand scorching underfoot and the sea a sparkling turquoise that had the kids splashing about for hours while I lounged with a book, dodging the seagulls eyeing my sarnies. The esplanade was alive with families building epic sandcastles, and that Jurassic Coast vibe meant we could mooch along spotting fossils in the rocks – proper dino hunter stuff without straying far. Evenings were golden; we’d wander to the harbour for crab claws and chips from a stall, the sun dipping low over Portland Bill, painting the sky in pinks and oranges. One night, we caught a beachfront band playing, toes in the warm sand, pints in hand – felt like the whole town was in on our holiday.

Mind you, it wasn’t all seamless. I had a right moment of self-reflection one afternoon, sprawled on a towel after the kids had dashed off to paddle. Watching them shriek with joy in the waves, I thought, blimey, when did I get so knackered chasing after them? Work stress from back home melted away, but it hit me – I need more of this simple stuff, less scrolling on me phone. Summer’s fleeting glow made me appreciate it all the more, that lazy heat wrapping around us like a duvet.

We squeezed in a boat trip to spot seals off the coast – the water was glassy calm in the August warmth, and the creatures flopping about had us in stitches. Rented bikes one day to cycle the gentle harbour path, ice cream melting down our hands before we’d even started. By week’s end, sunburnt noses and sandy socks packed away, I was gutted to leave. Weymouth in summer? It’s the full seaside monty – recharging, daft fun, and memories that stick like sand in your cossie. Can’t wait to go back.