I finally made it to Newquay after a bit of a faff on the drive down from Bristol – nothing major, just a cheeky wrong turn onto a narrow lane that had me reversing into a hedge while swearing at the satnav. Proper Cornwall welcome, that. It was late afternoon when I pulled up to the Exclusive Plus Hot Tub 2 Bedroom Lodge, tucked away in a peaceful spot just outside town, and blimey, the first impressions hit like a bracing sea gust.

Stepping out of the car, the salty air wrapped around me, carrying that unmistakable whiff of the Atlantic. The lodge itself is a beaut – compact but cosy, with those big windows framing views of rolling green fields that dip towards the coast. I dumped my bags and had a proper nosey around. Two snug bedrooms, both with en-suites, done up in that Scandi-chic style with plush bedding that screamed "sink in and forget the world." The open-plan living area had a wood-burning stove (not needed yet, mind), a telly bigger than my flat's, and a kitchen kitted out with everything from cafetière to cornflake bowls. But the star? That private hot tub on the decking, bubbling away invitingly under a pergola. I was itching to hop in, but the weather had other ideas – fat raindrops started plinking down as I unpacked, turning the sky from hopeful blue to moody grey in minutes. Classic British summer.

Keen to shake off the drive, I laced up my boots for a wander. Newquay's cracking for walks, and this lodge is perfectly placed – a quick five-minute drive or even a brisk yomp to spots like Porth Beach or the coastal path. I opted for the latter, plotting a loop along the cliffs towards Towan Head. The forecast promised sun, so off I went, full of vim. The path winds high above the crashing waves, gorse bushes buzzing with bees, and those epic views of Fistral Beach where surfers were bobbing like seals. I felt like a proper explorer, snapping pics of jagged rocks and the odd kestrel hovering overhead. Humour kicked in when I spotted a sign warning of "dangerous cliffs" – as if we Brits need telling; we've been falling off them since Victorian times.

But oh, the weather – that capricious sod. Halfway along, the heavens opened proper, wind whipping the rain horizontal like needles. My lightweight jacket? Useless. I hunkered down behind a rock, laughing at myself for not packing the full Gore-Tex armoury. Plans to push on to Crantock Beach went out the window; instead, I scurried back, arriving at the lodge looking like a drowned labrador. Dripping on the welcome mat, I peeled off soggy layers and fired up the hot tub. Submerging in that steaming bliss while the storm raged outside? Pure magic. The jets massaged away the chill, and I toasted with a mug of builder's tea, watching rain hammer the roof. First impressions upgraded: this place isn't just a lodge; it's a weatherproof haven.

Next morning, optimism renewed, I tackled a shorter hike from the lodge grounds themselves – gentle lanes leading to quiet coves within a couple of miles. Sun peeked out, turning the wet world sparkly, but by noon, mist rolled in off the sea, cloaking everything in that eerie Cornish fog. We adapted, sticking to puddle-dodging strolls along Newquay's back paths, past cute thatched cottages and the odd pasty van. One detour took me to a hidden blowhole, where waves gurgled dramatically before the drizzle sent me packing again. Back at base, hot tub reprise, this time with a pasty pilfered from town.

Reflecting on it now, over my third cuppa as the second day dawned drizzly, these weather-whipped walks taught me something daft but true: Cornwall's charm is in the chaos. You can't control the skies, but a cracking lodge like this turns soggy setbacks into steamy triumphs. If you're after first-night wow and impromptu adventures, this spot's a belter. Can't wait for day three – weather permitting, of course.