I’ll never forget the drive up to Scarborough – we’d piled into the car from Leeds, full of beans after a fry-up, only for the sat-nav to chuck us into a massive tailback just past Whitby. Rain hammered down like it had a personal grudge, and we sat there for an hour, me drumming on the wheel while the kids bickered over crisps. “This is meant to be a holiday,” I muttered, but by the time we rolled into town, the sun was peeking out, and my heart lifted. Spotting our terrace cottage on the hill, all cosy and inviting with its classic seaside vibe, I could already picture lazy evenings ahead.

It’s this brilliant spot, spread over five floors in the heart of Scarborough – perfect for a big group like ours. Seven bedrooms, all with those massive super-king beds you can tweak to fit anyone, and en-suites that meant no morning queues. Down on the lower ground floor, the lounge was a proper haven: squashy sofas, telly on the wall, ideal for regrouping after a day out.

First morning, we were buzzing – threw on wellies and headed straight for the beach path, just a short stroll away. Scarborough’s South Cliff is magic for that, with the sea crashing below and the castle ruins looming up top. We hiked up to the headland, wind whipping our faces, laughing as we dodged seagulls nicking chips from bins. The views over the bay were cracking, that curve of golden sand stretching out like a postcard. Felt like proper explorers, me leading the charge with a daft map app.

But oh, British weather – it’s got a wicked sense of humour. Come afternoon, skies turned proper black, and we got caught in a downpour halfway along the Cleveland Way clifftop path. Soaked to the skin, we scarpered back via the undercliff walk, those twisty steps through the woods turning into a slippery comedy of errors. I slipped once, landed on my bum – the kids howled with laughter, and fair play, it broke the tension. Ducked into a café near the Spa for hot teas and scones, plotting our next move while the rain lashed the windows.

Next day, blue skies again! We tackled the North Bay side, trudging up past Peasholm Park – that lake’s a gem, with little boats you can hire if you’re feeling fancy. The hike along the cliffs to Long Nab was brisk, gorse bushes buzzing with bees, and we spotted seals lounging on the rocks below. Blustery but brilliant, stopping for fish and chips wrapped in paper at the top, salt stinging our lips. Weather flipped mid-stride though – hailstones the size of marbles pelted us, forcing a hasty retreat down to the beach for shelter behind the prom bandstand. Huddled there, munching, I had a proper moment: here I was, mid-40s, drenched and daft, but loving every unpredictable minute with this lot. Who needs Maldives when you’ve got this?

By week’s end, we’d clocked miles of coastal paths, from Valley Bridge to the Holbeck slipway – mud, sun, storms and all. That cottage was our anchor, lounge piled with damp coats and sandy boots. Scarborough’s walks are the real draw; they keep you on your toes, literally. If you’re after proper seaside soul, pack your OS map and embrace the lot – it’s worth every soggy step.