I’ll never forget the drive down to Weymouth – we’d packed the car to the gills with wellies, waterproofs, and enough crisps to last a siege, buzzing with that proper holiday anticipation. The sat-nav had other ideas, though, leading us on a merry dance through some cheeky roadworks near Dorchester that turned a two-hour trip into three. By the time we rolled up, I was starving and a bit frazzled, but one glimpse of the sea sparkling across Weymouth Bay and all was forgiven. First impressions? Spot on. This ground-floor period apartment right on Greenhill, overlooking the bay, felt like a proper coastal hug – private lawned garden with a patio begging for a cuppa, and steps straight onto the Esplanade and that pebbled beach. Ideal for our little crew of five, with two bedrooms that sorted us out nicely.

We tumbled inside, dumped the bags in the dining room, and raided the well-equipped kitchen for a quick brew. That double oven screamed “roast dinner al fresco,” but with the sun peeking out, we fired up the patio doors instead, plonking on the homely sofas in the sitting room to gaze at those far-reaching sea views. Bliss. Our plan was simple: walk everywhere, hike the coastal paths, and let the Dorset weather do its dramatic thing. Weymouth’s got that perfect setup for it – flat esplanade strolls blending into proper cliff-top rambles.

Day one dawned bright, so we legged it along the Esplanade towards Nothe Fort, the Jurassic Coast unfurling like a postcard. Gulls wheeling overhead, kids skimming stones on the pebbles – pure joy. We pushed on to the coastal path, scrambling up to White Nothe for those vertigo-inducing views over the chalk cliffs. Lunch was fish and chips from a beach hut, eaten on the sand, salt in the air and not a cloud in sight. I felt like a kid again, grinning like an idiot.

But oh, the British weather – it’s got a wicked sense of humour. Next morning, we eyed a longer hike out to Osmington Mills, plotting a five-miler along the cliffs with a pub stop. Halfway up, the sky turned biblical – horizontal rain lashing in off the bay, turning the paths to slick mudslides. We hunkered down under a massive golf umbrella (thank you, pound shop), laughing as we slid back towards Greenhill beach. Plans B, C, and D kicked in: a soggy tramp along the esplanade to the Sealife Centre, peering at sharks while the storm raged outside. By afternoon, it cleared just enough for a gentle pootle through Radipole Lake nature reserve, spotting herons and kingfishers amid the reeds. Cosy evening in the garden followed, steaming mugs in hand, watching the clouds chase each other across the bay.

One rainy hike had me reflecting mid-squelch – why do I love these damp adventures so much? It’s the unpredictability, innit? Forces you to adapt, chat more, make daft memories. The sun broke through on our last day for a triumphant loop back via Redcliff Point, waves crashing below, wind whipping our cheeks. We packed up muddy boots and full hearts, already plotting the next soggy saunter. Weymouth, you legend – we’ll be back for more weather roulette.