I finally made it to Scarborough after that daft little mishap on the A170 – took a wrong turn near Pickering and ended up looping through some sleepy villages, arguing with the sat-nav like an old married couple. But honestly, it built the anticipation; by the time I pulled up to our stunning second-floor apartment in the elegant Esplanade area of South Cliff, I was buzzing. The place is perfectly placed – a stone's throw from the seafront and that handy cliff lift down to the beach, or you can wander through the ornamental Italian Gardens. It's got this cracking décor that screams seaside chic without trying too hard, and with daily permit parking right there, I didn't have to faff about circling the streets. First impressions? Spot on – felt like we'd stumbled into someone's posh relative's pad, all welcoming and ready for a family of five to make merry.

We dumped the bags and headed out, no grand plans, just letting our feet lead us. That's when the real magic kicked in – Scarborough's got this knack for rewarding the aimless wanderer. Instead of battling the crowds on the main promenade, we veered off towards the quieter edges of South Cliff, getting properly lost in the twisty paths behind the gardens. Stumbled upon this hidden gem: a tucked-away viewpoint overlooking the bay where the waves crash just right, with not a soul in sight. Sat there with fish and chips from a no-frills takeaway (proper mushy peas, mind), watching the fishing boats bob about. Laughed at myself for packing posh nibbles back home – who needs 'em when you've got that salty breeze?

Next day, we "accidentally" missed the cliff lift and took the long way down via some overgrown steps – turned out to be a belter. Led us to a pebbly cove I'd never heard of, shielded by crumbling cliffs, where kids were building epic pebble castles and an old chap was skim-reading stones like a pro. We joined in, got soaked chasing the tide, and found this wee sea cave you could only spot at low tide. Proper Indiana Jones vibes, minus the boulder chase. Felt a right twit for sticking to guidebooks on past trips; getting lost here is the best itinerary going.

Afternoon took us uphill again, meandering through residential backstreets off Esplanade. Popped out at a forgotten tearoom wedged between BandBs – Valley Bridge something-or-other area, but dead quiet. Scones that melted, tea strong enough to stand a spoon in, and the owner regaling us with tales of shipwrecks from the '70s. Who knew? We laughed about how we'd circled the same park bench twice earlier, but it led to spotting a wildflower meadow buzzing with bees, right by the cricket ground. Picked a few stems (promise we left plenty) for the apartment's windowsill.

Evening stroll back via the Italian Gardens – we took the long route, ducking into shaded alcoves that felt like secret nooks from a bygone era. Reflected there, pint in hand from a hole-in-the-wall micropub we'd tripped over, on how holidays like this remind you life's too short for maps. Scarborough's off-the-beaten-path spots aren't signposted; you earn 'em by wandering, mishaps and all. Can't wait to "lose" myself here again.