I finally made it to Fowey after a bit of a faff on the drive down from Devon – nothing major, just a rogue seagull dive-bombing my windscreen near Liskeard, leaving a streak of what I hope was just fishy indignation rather than something worse. Scraped it off at the next services with a soggy service station wipe, chuckling to myself about how even the Cornish wildlife was giving me a proper welcome. By the time I pulled up to Exclusive 3 Bed (Pet) just outside Fowey, the sun was peeking through like it knew I needed cheering up after three hours on twisty A-roads.

The cottage itself? Blimey, first impressions were spot on – a proper gem tucked into the hillside, all whitewashed walls and slate roof, with the sea winking at you from the garden. I let the dog, Monty, out first; he went mental sniffing every blade of grass, tail wagging like a windscreen wiper on full pelt. It's pet-friendly heaven, with a secure little paddock area where he could zoom about without legging it towards the cliffs. Stepping inside, it felt instantly like borrowing a mate's posh nan's house – cosy as anything, with those low-beamed ceilings that make you duck if you're over six foot (guilty), a wood burner begging for a fire later, and a kitchen stocked with all the essentials for a self-catering jaunt. The views from the lounge window? Straight over the rooftops to the estuary, where yachts bobbed about like they'd been gift-wrapped by Poseidon himself.

We'd only been there an hour when I laced up my boots for that first hike – couldn't resist. Fowey’s on your doorstep here, a gentle five-minute wander down the lane to the coastal path. The plan was a classic loop along the cliffs towards Polruan, maybe four miles of undulating bliss with sea spray and gulls for company. Weather app promised "bright intervals," so off we went, Monty tugging at the lead like he was part husky. First half was pure Cornwall magic: rugged paths winding past blackthorn hedges heavy with sloes, the Fal estuary glittering below like a sheet of crushed emeralds. I paused at one of those bench spots overlooking the water, munching a pasty I'd grabbed from the village bakery en route – proper job, flaky pastry and a dollop of mustard that had me grinning like a kid.

But oh, the British weather – never trust it further than you can throw it. Halfway round, the sky went from azure to apocalyptic in about 10 minutes flat. One second I'm stripping off my fleece, the next it's lashing down with that horizontal rain that feels like needles. Monty, bless him, took it in his stride, shaking himself into a soggy mop and giving me the side-eye like *this* was my idea. Plans? Out the window. Instead of pushing to Polruan, we improvised a soggy scramble back via the wooded valley path – proper squelch-fest, boots caked in mud up to the ankles. Light humour in the chaos: I slipped once on a greasy slate step, landing bum-first in a puddle, and laughed so hard Monty thought it was playtime. "Welcome to Cornwall, you daft sod," I muttered, hauling myself up.

By the time we squelched back to the cottage, soaked to the skin but buzzing, the sun was out again, steaming off the garden like a tropical greenhouse. Sat on the patio with a cuppa, towelling Monty dry while the estuary sparkled anew, I had a proper moment of reflection. Here I was, mid-forties, on a whim three-day getaway, and that weather-whipped hike had me feeling alive in a way desk life never does. No grand adventures planned beyond more coastal trots – Readymoney Cove tomorrow if the forecast holds – but already, this place had me hooked. First impressions? Exclusive 3 Bed (Pet) isn't just a stay; it's a launchpad for whatever the Cornish clag throws at you next. Can't wait for day two.