I’ll never forget the drive down to Saundersfoot – we’d packed the car to the gills with wellies, waterproofs and enough crisps to last a siege, only for me to take a wrong turn just past Tenby and end up in some narrow lane that looked like it hadn’t seen daylight since the Ark. A classic me moment: faffing with the satnav while the kids chanted “Are we there yet?” from the back. But honestly, as we finally rolled into the village, the anticipation bubbled up – those first glimpses of the sea sparkling under patchy clouds had us grinning like idiots.

Pulling up to our ground-floor apartment, I was chuffed to bits. Tucked in a cracking spot, just a short stroll from the harbour and beach, with its own patio peering out over lush communal gardens and a parking spot right outside. It’s the sort of place that screams “relax, you’ve arrived”. Inside, it was spot on – renovated nicely, with a big open-plan living area that made everything feel easy. We kicked off our shoes, cracked open a brew in the kitchen, and gathered round the dining table for a proper chinwag about what adventures lay ahead. First impressions? Spot-on for a family seaside bolt-hole.

The plan was simple: lace up and explore on foot, soaking up Pembrokeshire’s coastal paths. Day one dawned bright, so off we trotted to Saundersfoot beach, the sand firm underfoot as we skimmed stones and dodged the incoming tide. From there, it was a breezy walk along the promenade to the harbour, where we watched fishing boats bob and nicked ice creams from the van – proper holiday fodder. Feeling bold, we pushed on towards Coppet Hill, that gentle climb with killer views over the bay. The sun played along, turning the sea all turquoise, and I had one of those daft reflective moments: here I was, mid-forties, puffing up a hill with my lot, feeling properly alive instead of glued to a screen back home. Who needs therapy when you’ve got sea air?

But oh, the British weather – it’s got a wicked sense of humour. Next morning, the sky turned moody, rain lashing down like it had a personal grudge. Our grand hike to Amroth along the coastal path? Scrubbed. Instead, we adapted with a giggle, donning full wet-weather gear for a splashy yomp around the village. Saundersfoot’s got these fab little loops – past the old lifeboat station, weaving through wispy dunes, the wind whipping our hoods into comedy sails. We sheltered in a beachside café for chips and tea, laughing about how I’d packed enough layers to summit Everest but still ended up with squelchy socks.

By afternoon, the clouds parted just enough for another go at the cliffs. We stuck local, hugging the paths from the harbour back towards the beach, spotting seals lounging on rocks and wildflowers nodding in the breeze. The weather flips kept us on our toes, turning potential washouts into muddy, memorable romps. It’s the unpredictability that makes these Welsh walks magic – one minute deluge, the next golden hour lighting up the coast like a postcard.

Packing up on the last day, I felt a proper pang. Those hikes, rain or shine, stitched us closer, and the apartment’s cosy vibe made coming back each night pure bliss. Saundersfoot’s walking gems are a tonic – if you’re after seaside strides with a side of weather roulette, you won’t go far wrong here. Can’t wait to go back.