I’ll never forget the drive down to Dumfries and Galloway – that classic British road trip where the satnav decides to have a midlife crisis just as you cross the border. We were trundling along the A75 in our trusty old hatchback, bags stuffed with crisps and thermoses of tea, when it started pouring with rain. Proper horizontal stuff. Then, splash – we hit a massive puddle that turned out to be hiding a sneaky pothole. The car juddered like it’d been zapped, and we pulled over, hearts racing, convinced we’d blown a tyre. Turned out it was just a fright, but it had us laughing through the soggy windscreen wipers. By the time we arrived, I was buzzing with that giddy anticipation of finally reaching our little hideaway.

Pulling up to this tucked-away one-bedroom cottage in a quiet corner of Wigtown – Scotland’s National Book Town, no less – my first impressions were spot on. It’s the perfect romantic spot for two, just a cheeky 250-metre stroll from the town centre with its brilliant bookshops. Compact, cosy, and screaming ‘get away from it all’, it felt like a hug after that drenching drive. We dumped the bags, brewed a cuppa, and eyed up the map for our first walk.

Next morning, the weather gods smiled – blue skies, crisp air – so we laced up our boots for the 5.5-mile circular hike along the Bladnoch River. It’s pure magic, that path: gentle at first through lush fields, then hugging the sparkling water with herons flapping lazily overhead. We chatted nonsense, spotting otters (or were they just logs? Who knows), and paused for sandwiches with a view that made you forget the world. Bladnoch Distillery is right there too, a quick detour for a nose around the 200-year-old stills and a wee dram that warmed us from the inside out. Bliss.

But oh, the British weather – it’s got a wicked sense of humour. Day two, we planned a jaunt to Garlieston’s wide sandy beaches, about eight miles away, for a coastal ramble. Forecast said ‘partly cloudy’, but by noon it was lashing down again, wind whipping the sea into a froth. No chance of a picnic! We improvised with wellies and waterproofs, trudging along Rigg Bay instead. The rain turned the sand to mush, and we slipped about like Bambi on ice, giggling as waves snuck up to soak our socks. It wasn’t the sun-kissed stroll we’d dreamed of, but there’s something alive about battling the elements – the dramatic cliffs, the roar of the surf, it felt properly wild.

By day three, sat in the cottage with mugs of soup, staring out at the downpour, I had a proper moment of self-reflection. Here I was, mid-40s, still getting daftly excited about puddle-jumping hikes instead of spa days. Maybe I’m just a big kid at heart, but these walks – rain or shine – reminded me why I love escaping to places like Dumfries and Galloway. The weather flipped our plans, sure, but it made the good days sweeter and the soggy ones memorable. We even dashed into town between showers for a bookshop browse and a pie from one of the cracking little eateries.

If you’re after hikes that mix river trails, distillery drams, and beach battles with the breeze, this corner of south west Scotland delivers. Raincoats at the ready – you won’t regret it.