I finally made it to Weymouth after a bit of a faff on the drive down from Bristol – took a wrong turn near Dorchester and ended up in some sleepy village, faffing about with the satnav while the kids moaned from the back seat. Still, by early afternoon, we were trundling over the town bridge, hearts lifting at the sight of the harbour sparkling below. Spotting our first-floor apartment right there on the harbourside, I felt that proper holiday buzz kick in. High-spec decor inside, all bright and welcoming with an open-plan living space that lets the sun pour through the big windows – perfect for a family of four. Balcony views straight over the water? Chef's kiss. We dumped the bags and cracked open a cuppa, already plotting our walks.

First morning, the weather was a dream – blue skies, gentle breeze off the sea. We headed straight out for a stroll along the harbourside, past the bobbing boats and the old town bridge, weaving through the buzz of locals and day-trippers. It's dead central, so pubs and eateries are everywhere, but we grabbed fish and chips from a spot by the quay and munched them on the go. Feeling bold, we pushed on towards Nothe Fort, that proper hike up the headland path. About two miles out, with sea views the whole way and gulls wheeling overhead. The fort's a cracking spot – quirky tunnels and cannons, and the kids loved pretending to defend against invaders. I was chuffed; me, who usually puffs up a hill after ten minutes, managed it without turning into a beetroot.

But oh, British weather, you capricious beast. Come afternoon, the skies turned moody, and we got caught in a proper downpour on the way back. Plans for a longer yomp along the coastal path to Ringstead Bay? Scrubbed. Instead, we dashed into a cosy pub by the harbour for hot chocolates and a game of cards, laughing about how we'd morphed into drowned rats. Next day was much the same – started with a misty walk around Weymouth Harbour, dodging joggers and watching the fishing boats unload their catch. We tried for the Rodwell Trail, that easy flat path skirting the backwaters, perfect for bird-spotting. Lovely in the sunshine bits, with herons poking about in the mudflats. But halfway, the heavens opened again, forcing an about-turn. Back at the flat, balcony dripping but views still magic, we dried off and watched the flotilla of boats chug out as the sun tried (and failed) to peek through for sunset.

One evening, after another soggy hike attempt up to White Nothe – we made it to the cliffs but bailed when thunder grumbled – I sat on the balcony with a GandT, reflecting on it all. Holidays aren't about flawless plans; it's the adaptability that sticks. Us Brits moaning about the rain? That's half the fun. Those changeable days forced us into lazy family chats and impromptu town wanders, discovering hidden alleys off the high street lined with chip shops and ice cream parlours. The apartment was a godsend – comfy beds, spotless bathroom, and that harbour hum right outside. By week's end, windswept and a tad wiser, we didn't want to leave. Weymouth's walks, rain or shine, had us hooked. Can't wait for the next soggy adventure.