I’ll never forget the drive up to East Ayton last month – we’d packed the car to the brim with wellies, maps, and enough crisps to siege a castle, only for the sat-nav to chuck a wobbly just outside Scarborough. It rerouted us down some narrow lane that felt more like a sheep’s personal runway, and we ended up with a wing mirror kissing a hedge. A proper Yorkshire welcome, that was, but we laughed it off, windows down, singing along to the radio as the moors unfolded ahead. By the time we trundled into that quaint village, my heart was already lifting – the anticipation of ditching the daily grind for proper fresh air had me buzzing.

Pulling up to the cottage, it was love at first sight. This charming little place is tucked away just right for a countryside escape near Scarborough, all cosy and inviting without being fussy. Inside, the kitchen/living area is a proper hub – big enough for us lot to chop veg, sip tea, and sprawl out for a film after a long tramp. Upstairs, three snug bedrooms with loads of storage meant no suitcase Tetris, and that bath was a godsend for weary legs. But the real star? The hot tub out back, bubbling away under the trees – pure bliss after a day on your feet.

We’d planned epic hikes from the off, lacing up boots for the best of North Yorkshire’s walks. First day, jackpot: blue skies over the Dalby Forest trails, just a short hop away. We wandered those pine-scented paths, dodging roots and chatting nonsense, the kids racing ahead to spot deer. Lunch was a picnic by a babbling brook – cheese rolls never tasted so good. That evening, sinking into the hot tub with a cold beer, muscles humming, I had one of those quiet moments: when did I last switch off like this? Work’s a treadmill sometimes; out here, it’s all perspective.

Next morning, classic British weather decided to gatecrash. Sheets of rain hammered down, turning our ambitious cliff-top stroll along Scarborough’s South Bay into a non-starter. “Plan B!” I declared, ever the optimist. We pivoted to the gentler Ayton paths, hoods up, splashing through puddles like daft kids. The wind whipped our cheeks rosy, but there’s something magic about a damp Yorkshire hike – that earthy smell after rain, sheep bleating in the fields, and the sea peeking through gaps in the hills. We dodged the worst of it, laughing when a gust nearly nicked my hat.

By day three, the clouds parted for Filey Brigg, that rugged headland with views to make your jaw drop. We tackled the undulating coastal path, seals barking below, gulls wheeling overhead. Even the drizzle later couldn’t dampen it – we just hunkered down for tea and board games back at base, plotting tomorrow’s route around the kitchen table.

Those walks, rain or shine, were the heartbeat of the trip. The weather kept us on our toes, forcing detours that turned out better than the originals. Driving home, I was already plotting a return – Scarborough’s got me hooked, mishaps and all.