I’ll never forget the drive up to our holiday spot in North Wales – a proper trek from the Midlands, winding through those narrow lanes with sheep eyeing us suspiciously from every corner. About halfway, disaster struck: a flat tyre just as the rain started pelting down. There I was, in my wellies, wrestling with the jack while my mate Dave held an umbrella that was more inside-out than useful. An hour later, covered in mud and laughing like idiots, we finally rolled into the hamlet of Dolau, hearts racing with that buzz of arrival. Eight miles from Llandrindod Wells, this place felt like the middle of nowhere in the best way.

Pulling up to the superb detached former 18th century mill, right next to the owners’ working livestock farm, I was gobsmacked. Set on an acre of private grounds with direct access to a small river at the end of the garden, it screamed rural retreat – perfect for our group of mates craving a Powys getaway. We parked, climbed the five steps to the covered terrace, and there it was: the hot tub, steaming invitingly like it knew we’d earned it. Inside, spread over three floors and immaculately presented, it had that cosy charm you dream of. First impressions? Spot on. We cracked open beers and toasted to ditching the rat race.

Our week revolved around walking – proper hikes that showcased the best (and bonkers) of British weather. Day one dawned crisp and sunny, so we headed out for an easy riverside stroll right from the garden, following the water’s babble past grazing sheep and into pockets of ancient woodland. It was magical, birdsong everywhere, the Powys hills rolling out like a postcard. We pushed on to a gentle loop around the farm tracks, spotting buzzards overhead and wildflowers nodding in the breeze. By teatime, we were back, feet up, plotting more.

But oh, the weather – that great British leveller. Next morning, it was lashing it down, turning our ambitious hike towards the nearby Radnor Forest edges into a soggy trudge. Paths turned to quagmires, and what started as a bracing yomp became a comedy of errors: me slipping arse-over-tit into a puddle, Dave’s socks squelching like wet sponges. We shortened it to a farm-loop detour, laughing through chattering teeth, but it forced us to appreciate the mill’s snug corners. Rain hammered the windows as we dried off by the Aga, hot mugs in hand. Reflecting on it later, I realised that’s the beauty of these trips – they remind you life’s not about perfect plans, but rolling with the squalls and coming out grinning.

The sun fought back midweek, gifting us a cracker of a day for a longer ramble along the river valley trails, clambering over stiles and picnicking by a waterfall just a couple of miles off. Even the dreich days had charm – misty walks through dripping lanes, the air alive with that earthy petrichor scent. Evenings ended in the hot tub, muscles aching happily, stars peeking through clouds. Those hikes, weather-whipped or not, made it unforgettable. If you’re after a North Wales escape that’ll test your waterproofs and lift your soul, this is it. We’re already plotting a return.