I’ll never forget the drive up to our little holiday cottage in North Wales – or rather, the cheeky detour that nearly turned it into a full-blown comedy of errors. We’d piled into the car from the Midlands, kids buzzing in the back with crisps and iPads, me navigating via a dodgy phone signal. About halfway, I took a wrong turn onto some narrow lane that looked promising on the map but ended up being a mud-slicked farm track. The car fishtailed like it was auditioning for a rally, and we all had a good laugh (well, after I’d stopped panicking). Twenty minutes later, we were back on track, hearts racing with that mix of relief and excitement. As we crested the hill towards Selattyn, the rolling Shropshire countryside unfolded – green hills dotted with sheep, and there it was: our peaceful single-storey cottage on a working farm, just outside this tranquil village. First impressions? Spot on. Cosy, stylish, and screaming ‘family getaway’ – three bedrooms for our lot of six, perfect for sprawling out after a day’s adventures.

We couldn’t wait to hit the trails, with Selattyn Hills practically on the doorstep at a mile away. Day one dawned bright, so off we trotted, the kids charging ahead like puppies off the lead. Those peaceful paths wound through wildflowers and woodland, with views that made you forget the world. We picnicked by a babbling stream, feeling properly at one with nature. I even managed a rare moment of zen, sitting there thinking how these simple jaunts recharge the batteries better than any spa day.

But oh, the British weather – it’s got a wicked sense of humour, doesn’t it? Next morning, the sky turned moody, and a proper drizzle set in. No way were we letting that dampen spirits. We layered up and headed to Offa’s Dyke Path, just 1.5 miles off. That historic border trail between England and Wales is a cracker for a sturdy hike – muddy underfoot in the wet, but the mist added this dramatic edge, like we were in a Brontë novel. The kids slipped about giggling, turning it into a game of ‘don’t fall in the bog’. We pushed on for a couple of hours, rain pattering on our hoods, until hunger drove us back for hot chocolate and board games by the fire. Self-reflection time: I realised I’m a fair-weather walker at heart, but these soggy slogs build character – mine and theirs.

The weather flipped again by afternoon, sun peeking out like it was apologising. We saved the best for Oswestry Hillfort, a 2.5-mile jaunt up to Iron Age defences with panoramic views that stretch forever. Windy up top, but clear enough to spot the village below and the farm winking back at us. The kids pretended to be ancient warriors, me huffing behind, secretly chuffed at keeping up.

Staying put on that farm felt like the ideal base for these walking escapades – close enough to pop back for lunch, far enough to feel remote. Rain or shine, those hikes shifted from gentle ambles to epic quests, all thanks to the whims of the Welsh weather. We came home muddy, knackered, and closer than ever. Can’t wait to go back.