I’ll never forget the drive down to Weymouth – we’d set off from Bristol full of beans, kids in the back singing along to some dodgy pop playlist, but halfway through, the sat-nav decided to have a midlife crisis. It rerouted us down a winding lane that felt like it was leading to Narnia, complete with a massive puddle that nearly swallowed the car whole. We emerged laughing, a bit soggy, but buzzing with that holiday anticipation – you know, the kind where you imagine cracking open a cold one by the sea as soon as you arrive.

Pulling up near the harbour, my first impressions were spot on: the salty air hit us like a warm hug, boats bobbing gently, and there it was, this charming first-floor apartment brimming with character. Large windows everywhere, done up with real attention to detail – perfect for our little crew. Stepping inside, we found two beautifully presented bedrooms: the king-size one with floor-to-ceiling windows flooding it with light and a Smart TV for lazy mornings, and a cosy twin room with its own telly too. It felt like home straight away, right in the thick of harbour life, steps from the buzz of restaurants, shops, and those golden sands.

But honestly, the real magic of Weymouth isn’t the obvious spots – it’s the hidden gems you stumble on when you let yourself get properly lost. First day, we wandered off the harbour path, chasing a glimpse of the sea through some back alleys, and ended up at this tiny cove called Bowleaze. Barely a soul there, just us paddling in the shallows, spotting crabs scuttling about. The kids thought they’d discovered Atlantis; I was just chuffed we’d ditched the crowds.

Next morning, fueled by a fry-up from a no-frills café (proper bacon, none of your fancy nonsense), we aimed for the beach but took a daft wrong turn up Redcliff Gardens. Blimey, what a find – these lush, overgrown paths winding through flowerbeds that looked like they belonged in a secret garden. We picnicked under the trees, watching paragliders launch off the cliffs further along the bay. Felt like we’d gatecrashed someone else’s paradise.

The best bit came midweek. Trying to find the Nothe Fort – or so we thought – we veered off into the backstreets behind the harbour and tumbled onto Radipole Lake. Tucked away like a shy locals’ secret, it’s this serene nature reserve buzzing with swans and herons. We hired a little rowboat for a quid, got hilariously tangled in the weeds, and spent hours drifting, spotting kingfishers darting about. No tourists, just the ripple of water and our daft giggles echoing off the reeds.

Wandering those off-the-beaten paths made me pause for a sec – I’m usually the one glued to the map, bossing everyone about. But getting lost there reminded me holidays are for letting go, aren’t they? No itinerary, just serendipity. Weymouth’s got that knack for it – harbour buzz by night, secret nooks by day. We left knackered but grinning, already plotting the next detour. If you’re after a base to uncover your own Weymouth wonders, you won’t go far wrong here.