I’ll never forget the drive to our Shropshire cottage – a proper faff from the start. We’d piled into the car in Birmingham, full of beans about escaping the rat race, only for the sat-nav to chuck us down a muddy farm track five miles from Ellesmere. Cue a tense five-point turn in the pouring rain, with me swearing under my breath (well, almost) and the kids giggling in the back. But as we finally trundled down that quiet country lane, just a mile from the England-Wales border, the stress melted away. The place was nestled there like it’d been waiting for us, all cosy and welcoming. First impressions? Spot on. We tumbled out, bags in hand, grinning like idiots despite the drizzle.

It’s the sort of holiday property that screams “put your feet up and forget the world” – simple, comfy, with everything you need for a proper getaway. We were itching to explore on foot straight away, lacing up our boots amid that delicious arrival buzz. Shropshire’s got this mini Lake District vibe around Ellesmere, with its meres just five miles off, and we couldn’t wait to dive into some hikes.

Day one, the weather played nice – rare for Britain, eh? We set off for a gentle wander around Ellesmere’s meres, the paths crisp underfoot, herons skimming the water like they owned the place. The air was fresh as a daisy, and we laughed our way along, spotting coots and chatting nonsense. It felt like proper freedom, just us and the Shropshire hills rolling out forever. Lunch was a cheeky picnic by the lake, me reflecting on how I never make time for this at home – too busy scrolling emails. Needed that nudge.

Come afternoon, the skies turned biblical. Grey clouds rolled in faster than my regrets over that extra slice of cake at breakfast. Our planned longer loop around the meres? Scrapped. Instead, we hunkered down for a rainy ramble closer to base, splashing through puddles down the lane. The kids loved it, turning it into a game of dodge-the-mud-pie, while I pretended not to mind my socks squelching. Light humour in the chaos: “If this is Britain, why do we live here?” I quipped, earning eye-rolls all round.

Next day, blue skies again – classic British roulette. We pushed further, tackling a hearty hike into the nearby countryside, paths winding past hedgerows bursting with blackberries. The border felt tantalisingly close, that Welsh pull just over the hedge. We even detoured to Chirk Castle’s grounds, eight miles on a scenic tramp – National Trust perfection, with trails that twist through woods and offer cracking views. Picnicked on the grass, wind in our hair, me pondering how these simple walks recharge the soul better than any spa day.

But oh, the weather flipped like a grumpy pancake by evening. A proper downpour forced an impromptu “bad weather adventure” – foraging for chestnuts under brollies, then hot chocolate back at the cottage. It was those contrasts that made it: sunny strides one minute, soggy slogs the next, all weaving into the best kind of holiday memory. Shropshire’s walks, rain or shine, sorted us right out. Can’t wait to go back.