I’ll never forget the drive down to Pembrokeshire – a proper British road trip with a side of chaos. We’d packed the car to the gills with wellies, maps and enough tea bags to last a nuclear winter, humming along the M4 before veering off into Wales. About halfway through, just past Carmarthen, the heavens opened and my sat-nav decided to throw a wobbly, rerouting us down some narrow lane that felt more like a sheep’s personal driveway. We ended up stuck behind a tractor for what seemed like hours, laughing hysterically as the windscreen wipers battled the deluge. But honestly, that little mishap just built the anticipation – by the time we crested the hill into Maenclochog, I was buzzing to see our holiday cottage.

Pulling up to this delightfully located property on the edge of the Preseli Hills was pure magic, first impressions bang on. It’s the sort of place that whispers “relax and unwind” from the moment you step out – cosy, unpretentious, with the village shop, café and pub just a stroll away. Perfect for a self-catering jaunt any time of year. Narberth’s pretty boutique shops were a quick drive off, and Saundersfoot’s sandy beach with its harbour and eateries tempted us further, but we were here for the hills, not the hordes.

Day one, the weather gods smiled: crisp blue skies, perfect for a hike straight from the door into the Preseli Hills. We followed a cracking trail up towards Foel Cwmcerwyn, the highest point around, puffing along with views that stretched forever – gorse buzzing with bees, ancient standing stones peeking out like shy giants. I felt ten feet tall, striding like a proper adventurer, stopping for a brew in the café back in the village. “This is living,” I thought, grinning like an idiot.

But oh, the British weather – it’s got a wicked sense of humour. Next morning, we woke to horizontal rain lashing the windows, turning our planned epic trek to the coast into a non-starter. No point battling that; instead, we layered up and embraced a muddier local ramble around Maenclochog’s back lanes and woodland paths. Wellies squelching, we dodged puddles the size of small lakes, spotting red kites wheeling overhead and wild ponies eyeing us suspiciously. It was gloriously soggy, the kind of walk that leaves you drenched but delighted, warming up with pints and pie at the pub after. I had a quiet moment there, nursing my tea by the fire, reflecting on how I’m always chasing perfect sun-drenched hikes, but these soggy adventures are the ones that stick – they remind you life’s not about flawless plans, but rolling with the squalls.

The weather flipped again mid-week: sun breaking through for a blustery clifftop stroll near Saundersfoot, waves crashing below as we huffed up the headland paths. Evenings were for shorter village loops, plotting the next day’s route over cottage dinners. We never made it to Tenby’s cobbles or the castles – too busy with these hill walks, rain or shine. Pembrokeshire’s Preseli edges delivered proper soul food; I’m already plotting a return, come hell, high water or tractor traffic.