I’ll never forget the drive down from Dublin to Ballinroher near Timoleague – a solid four hours that turned into five when we took a wrong turn near Kinsale and ended up looping through some narrow lanes with sheep giving us the evil eye. Still, by the time we pulled up to this cosy bungalow tucked into the coastal countryside, the sun was peeking through, and I was buzzing with that holiday anticipation, you know? Windows glowing warmly, garden inviting us in – first impressions? Spot on. It’s the sort of place that feels like a hug: two doubles, a bright twin, family bathroom with a proper bath, and a cheeky cloakroom for muddy boots. Kitchen sorted for scoffing, dining room with an open fire begging for a roast, plus a sitting room and conservatory overlooking the greenery. Perfect for our little crew.

We’d planned epic hikes from the off, lacing up boots the moment we unpacked. First day, blue skies – jackpot! A gentle wander along the Timoleague Abbey trail, just a mile or so down the road, with sea views that make you forget the world. Waves crashing below, gulls overhead, and those lush green fields rolling out. We even spotted a seal bobbing about, which had the kids in hysterics. I felt properly alive, striding out with a thermos of tea, chatting nonsense about nothing.

But oh, the Irish weather – it’s got a wicked sense of humour, doesn’t it? Next morning, lashing rain turned our ambitious coastal path plan into a soggy no-go. We pivoted to a shorter loop around Ballinroher’s backroads, splashing through puddles and laughing at the sheep looking as miserable as we felt. Coats dripping in the conservatory, fire roaring, we dried off with mugs of Builder’s and board games. Made me reflect a bit – I’m always chasing the perfect plan, but these curveballs are what stick in the memory. That afternoon, it cleared just enough for a sneaky hike up to the headland near Courtmacsherry Bay, all wildflowers and dramatic cliffs. Wind whipping our faces, but the views? Pure magic, with the Atlantic stretching forever.

Day three, more of the same flip-flopping. Grey skies forced us inland for a gentle farm-track stroll, dodging cows and breathing that fresh, briny air. Then, miracle of miracles, sun broke through for our best yet: the rugged path along the Seven Heads Walk’s edge, close enough to feel the spray. Legs aching, cheeks rosy – we earned that dinner by the fire, tucking into spuds and stew.

By the end, those hikes – good days triumphant, bad ones character-building – had us recharged. This bungalow was our rainy-day haven and sunny launchpad. If you fancy ditching the rat race for coastal rambles that bend with the breeze, get yourself here. You won’t regret it.