I’ll never forget the drive down to Llanteg in Pembrokeshire – a proper British road trip that started with high hopes and ended with me swearing at the satnav. We’d piled into the car from the Midlands, me, my partner, and our scruffy terrier, Bertie, with the boot stuffed full of wellies and waterproofs. About halfway, just past Carmarthen, the heavens opened, and Bertie decided it was the perfect moment to be sick all over the back seat. Cue frantic roadside cleanup with baby wipes while lorries thundered past. Still, by the time we trundled into the village, anticipation was buzzing – this was our cosy escape, and the sun even peeked out as we pulled up.

First impressions? Magic. The cottage is this sweet, romantic spot for two (plus one hairy extra), tucked away in Llanteg with an open-plan living space that just welcomes you in. Wood burner crackling away, private hot tub bubbling on the courtyard garden – it felt like home straight off, Bertie included. We dumped the bags and cracked open a cuppa, peering out at the coast just a short stroll away. Perfect for walks, we thought. Little did we know the Welsh weather had other ideas.

Day one, blue skies, so we headed straight for the Pembrokeshire Coast Path from Amroth beach, barely a couple of miles up the road. It’s stunning – rugged cliffs, sandy coves, and Bertie bounding ahead like he owned the place. We huffed up to the telly tub ruins, picnicking with pasties from the village shop, sea breeze whipping our hair. Pure bliss, that first hike, legs tingling from the ups and downs. I even managed a rare moment of zen, thinking, blimey, I really need to get out more; city life’s made me soft.

But oh, the weather – it’s the boss here. Next morning, grey and drizzly, our plan for a long coastal ramble to Wiseman’s Bridge went out the window. Instead, we layered up and tackled the inland paths around Llanteg. Muddy tracks through fields, past wonky stiles that had Bertie sliding comically on his belly. Laugh-out-loud stuff, slipping and sliding, me pretending I’m Bear Grylls while secretly cursing my choice of trainers. Ended up at a hidden valley spot, rain easing just enough for hot tub dips back at the cottage – steaming away the chill, wine in hand.

By day three, storm force winds howled in from the west, scrapping any beach walks. We pivoted to the sheltered lanes near Sardis, short loops with hedges blocking the gales. It was bracing, cheeks rosy, discovering little spots like the quiet churchyard paths where time slows right down. One soggy afternoon, hunkered by the wood burner, I reflected on it all – how the unpredictability of Pembrokeshire’s hikes mirrors life a bit, doesn’t it? You pack for sun, get soaked, but come home stronger, stories richer. Bertie snored contentedly, oblivious.

We squeezed in one last epic on departure day – misty coastal path back from Amroth, weather turning fair again. Left with salty lungs, aching calves, and a promise to return. If you fancy walks that adapt to whatever the skies chuck down, this cottage is your spot. Proper tonic for the soul.