I’ll never forget the drive up to Scarborough – we’d packed the car with enough crisps and tea bags to last a siege, but about halfway there, just past York, the sat-nav decided to throw a wobbly and sent us on a merry detour through some winding country lanes. Proper panic stations for a bit, with me swearing at the screen (under my breath, mind) while my other half tried to navigate with an actual map. We arrived a tad later than planned, but honestly, that anticipation had built up nicely – visions of sea breezes and fish suppers dancing in our heads.

Pulling up to the town house, we were chuffed to bits. It’s one of those classic terraced spots right in the heart of things, with a cosy, lived-in vibe that made it feel like a home from home straight away. Fresh towels, a well-stocked kitchen, and a cracking view out the back window – first impressions? Spot on.

Day one dawned bright and breezy, perfect for a hike along the South Cliff. We laced up our boots and headed out, following the promenade past the Italian Gardens – those flowerbeds were a riot of colour, like nature’s showing off. The path climbs gently up towards the headland, with the North Sea sparkling below. We proper strode it out, chatting nonsense and stopping for selfies with the lighthouse in the distance. Lunch was a scampi in a basket at a beachside café, washed down with builder’s tea. Couldn’t have asked for better.

But oh, British weather – it’s got a mind of its own, hasn’t it? Next morning, we’d planned a good old ramble over to Oliver’s Mount, that hill with the cracking panoramas. Grey skies rolled in overnight, and by breakfast, it was lashing down. Undeterred (or maybe just stubborn), we donned our waterproofs and cracked on. The paths up there turn into proper mudslides when wet – I slipped once, landing on my bum with a splat that had us in stitches. Laughing through chattering teeth, we made it to the top, rewarded with misty views over the bay and a sense of achievement. Huddled under a tree for a flask of coffee, we reflected on how these daft moments make holidays memorable. Me, I’m always the one who packs too many layers but forgets the decent gloves – classic overthinker.

The weather flipped again by afternoon, sun peeking through like it was apologising. We wandered the cliff tops towards Northstead Manor Gardens, the rain-fresh air making everything smell amazing. Those valley gardens are a hidden gem, with paths winding through subtropical plants and little waterfalls – felt like a mini jungle escape without leaving Scarborough. We even spotted seals bobbing about offshore, which had us grinning like kids.

Last day, a cheeky hailstorm tried to scupper our final stroll along the Spa Cliff path, but we dodged into a shelter for a brew and watched it pass. Ended up with numb toes but hearts full. Staying put in that town house let us chase the weather’s whims on foot, from sunny strides to soggy slogs. It’s made me realise I need more of this – less faffing about planning, more just getting out there, rain or shine. Scarborough’s walks are pure magic, whatever the forecast throws at you. Can’t wait to go back.