I’ll never forget the drive down to Weymouth – we’d set off from Bristol full of beans, sandwiches packed and the sat-nav promising a smooth two hours. But oh no, typical us, we missed the turn for the A35 and ended up in some sleepy village detour, arguing over whether to trust Google Maps or my dodgy sense of direction. Half an hour later, we rolled into town sweaty and slightly frazzled, but as we pulled up to this cracking seafront apartment – all modern vibes with a massive open-plan living kitchen diner that screamed “kick back and chill” – my heart did a little flip. Right opposite that golden sandy beach with its fancy award, and just a stroll from shops and pubs. First impressions? Pure bliss. I could already picture lazy mornings with coffee in hand, gazing at the sea.

We’d come for a proper staycation along the Jurassic Coast, but honestly, the magic happened when we ditched the tourist traps and let ourselves get properly lost. Day one, after unpacking, we wandered off the seafront path, chasing a glimpse of some crumbling cliffs we’d spotted from the balcony. No map, just vibes. Ended up in this hidden cove down a scrubby path off Greenhill – not a soul around, just us paddling in rock pools teeming with tiny crabs and anemones. Felt like we’d stumbled into a secret world, the kind of spot locals keep quiet about. Laughed our heads off when I slipped on seaweed, emerging like a drowned rat, but it was brilliant – that gentle reminder that holidays are for embracing the daft moments, not perfection.

Next morning, fueled by a fry-up in the apartment’s massive kitchen (space for days, perfect for us lot faffing about), we headed out again, aiming for Nothe Fort but veering off down random lanes instead. Got utterly turned around in Radipole, but what a find: this tucked-away nature reserve with lagoons buzzing with kingfishers and herons. We picnicked on a bench, watching swans glide by, far from the harbour crowds. It hit me then, sitting there with the sun on my face – how often do we rush through life? Getting lost forced us to slow down, breathe, and spot the real gems.

Afternoon took us beachcombing the other way, beyond the main drag towards Bowleaze Cove. Slipped down a unmarked track and voila – a secluded stretch of pebbles where we hunted fossils, unearthing ammonites like pros (well, almost; mine turned out to be a wonky stone). Evenings back at the flat were heaven: cooking up pasties from the nearby bakery, sprawling on the sofas with wine, sharing tales of our “adventures.” One night, we even caught a fireworks display over the bay from the window – pure luck.

Weymouth’s got the buzz, but those accidental detours? They made it unforgettable. If you’re after a seafront pad that’s spot-on for families or mates, go get lost here. You won’t regret it.