I’ll never forget the drive down to Weymouth – what should’ve been a straightforward jaunt from the Midlands turned into a proper comedy of errors. Sat-nav decided to play silly buggers just as we hit the A354, rerouting us through some winding lanes that felt like they hadn’t seen tarmac since the war. Then, to top it off, I missed the turning for the harbourside development entirely, ending up in a one-way system that looped us round the marina twice. By the time we pulled into that electronically gated car park, my other half was shooting me looks that could curdle milk, and the kids were chanting “Are we there yet?” like a broken record. Heart racing a bit, I finally spotted our allocated parking spot, slotted the car in, and thought, right, that’s the last we’ll see of you for a week.

Stepping out, though, all that arrival chaos melted away like ice cream on Weymouth beach. There it was – our first-floor apartment in this swish new harbourside spot, staring right out over the glittering marina and harbour. I’d been buzzing with anticipation on the journey, picturing lazy mornings with coffee and sea views, but the reality hit even better. We hauled our bags up via the lift (bless it, after that drive my legs were jelly), and flung open the door to this light, airy haven. Two elegant bedrooms – one with its own en-suite – sleeping us four just perfectly, and that balcony? Blimey, the views of bobbing yachts and the harbour bustle were straight out of a postcard. I stood there for a minute, bag still in hand, grinning like an idiot. First impressions? Ten out of ten. Luxurious without being stuffy, and right in the thick of it all.

We dumped the luggage and headed straight out on foot – no faffing with the car needed here. Weymouth’s harbour was alive with fisherfolk unloading the day’s catch, and the smell of fresh chips wafted from nearby stalls. Popped into the Nothe Fort gardens for a mooch, the kids charging ahead while we ambled along the paths with Jurassic Coast vibes all around. That evening, we grabbed fish and chips from the harbourfront – proper proper ones, wrapped in paper, eaten on a bench watching the sun dip behind the boats. Laughed about the drive over vinegar-doused cod, me admitting I’m rubbish with directions but brilliant at picking holiday spots.

Sitting on the balcony later, GandT in hand, gazing at the twinkling lights reflecting off the water, I had one of those quiet moments. You know, the kind where you think, “Life’s too short for sat-nav stress – more of this, please.” Weymouth worked its magic on us from the off; that messy arrival just made the first impressions all the sweeter. If you’re after a cracking base for harbour wanders, beach days at Greenhill or Chesil, or just soaking up Dorset’s gentle charm, this is the ticket. Can’t wait to go back.