I finally made it to that cracking holiday spot in North Wales after a bit of a faff on the journey. I'd been buzzing with anticipation all week, dreaming of fresh air and proper walks, but about halfway there, the sat-nav decided to chuck a wobbly and sent me down some tiny lane that turned into a muddle of sheep and single-track drama. Heart in mouth, I reversed into a hedge – no damage, just my pride a tad bruised – but it made arriving all the sweeter.

Pulling up to this wonderful, stylish, detached farmhouse with its lawns and those superb views across open countryside towards Cerrigydrudion felt like stepping into a hug. It's the largest of three holiday cottages, tastefully furnished throughout, and right from the spacious hallway opening into the large sitting room with its welcoming woodburner, I was smitten. First impressions? Spot on – cosy for evenings, French doors flung open to summer breezes, and a modern kitchen with a big dining table perfect for scoffing home-cooked grub. That private hot tub on the patio? Pure bliss after a day out.

North Wales is walker’s paradise, innit? I’d packed for every eventuality, but British weather being what it is, plans went right out the window – or rather, got drenched. Day one dawned bright, so I laced up and headed out for a gentle stomp along the nearby Clwedog Valley trails, just a couple of miles off. Sun streaming, skylarks twittering, views over rolling hills that make you feel properly small. I wandered past babbling streams and wildflower meadows, stopping for a brew from my flask, grinning like an idiot. Pure magic, that first hike – legs tingling, lungs full of clean air.

Come afternoon, clouds rolled in like they owned the place. By evening, it was sheeting down, turning paths to slip-and-slides. No point battling it, so I hunkered down by the woodburner with a cuppa, plotting tomorrow. Self-reflection moment: I’m a fair-weather fair, me. Used to charge ahead regardless, but these days I’ve learned there’s joy in adapting – a soggy sock isn’t the end of the world.

Next day, typical Welsh mischief: morning mist lifted to blue skies, so off I went on a longer loop up towards the Berwyn hills, sticking close to home turf. Steepish climbs rewarded with panoramas over the Dee Valley, buzzards wheeling overhead. Picnicked on a tussock with cheese butties, feeling alive. Then, wham – hail the size of marbles pelted down mid-descent. I sheltered under a gnarly tree, laughing at the absurdity, coat zipped to the chin. Made it back sodden but buzzing, straight into the hot tub. Alfresco soak under drizzly skies? Surprisingly lush.

A couple more days of this dance: cracking rambles along off-road tracks when the sun played ball, dodging puddles and wind when it didn’t. One epic misty hike had me lost for 20 minutes in a boggy bit – gentle panic turned to chuckles when I spotted a familiar gate. Weather kept it real, forcing shorter local wanders on rainy spells, but that’s the charm. Evenings unwinding in the sitting room, patio dinners if dry, hot tub every night – legs ached, soul sang.

Left feeling fitter, wiser to the whims of the Welsh hills. If you fancy walks with a side of unpredictability, this is your spot. Can’t wait to go back.