We’d barely made it out of the station when the heavens opened, and my phone’s satnav decided to send us on a scenic tour of every back lane in Scarborough instead of straight to Green Tor. By the time we reached the little stone cottage, we were soaked, laughing, and completely turned around. The rain eased just long enough for us to drag our bags inside, and that’s when the place really won us over: a bright kitchen that smelled faintly of woodsmoke, a view straight onto the dunes, and a note from the owners suggesting we try the quieter path behind the garden if we fancied stretching our legs.

We set off that afternoon with no particular plan, just wellies and a vague hope of finding fish and chips before the next shower. The lane behind the cottage narrowed into a sandy track that looked promising, so we followed it. Ten minutes later we were properly lost, the path twisting between tall grasses until it opened onto a tiny shingle cove we’d never have spotted from the main road. No ice-cream vans, no queues, just the tide pulling at a line of driftwood and a couple of locals walking their dogs. We sat on an old concrete block and watched the waves for ages, the sort of unplanned moment that ends up being the highlight of any trip.

Further along the same track we stumbled across a disused lookout point half-hidden by brambles. From there the whole sweep of South Bay stretched out below us, yet we were the only ones up there. It felt like we’d been handed a private viewing platform. We carried on, curiosity pulling us deeper into the dunes, and came across a tiny freshwater stream trickling toward the sea. The water was icy but clean, and we cupped our hands for a drink like a pair of kids on a school trip.

By the time we wandered back to Green Tor the light was fading and our shoes were caked in sand. The cottage felt even cosier for having spent the afternoon getting properly lost. Over mugs of tea we admitted we’d barely scratched the surface of the area, yet already felt more relaxed than we had in months. Sometimes the best memories are the ones the map never planned for.