I finally made it to Austen Premier after a bit of a faff on the drive down from Bristol. I'd set off full of beans, playlist blasting some indie tunes, dreaming of crisp Devon air and cosy cottage vibes. But no, about 20 minutes in, I managed to spill my entire flask of builder's tea all over the passenger seat – classic me, turning a simple motorway jaunt into a soggy disaster. By the time I pulled up to this charming stone cottage in the quiet hamlet near Axminster, I was laughing at myself, towel-drying the seat and already feeling the holiday magic kick in.

Austen Premier is proper idyllic, tucked away in East Devon's rolling countryside, with those quintessential thatched roofs and flower baskets spilling over the doorway. I arrived mid-afternoon on a Friday, the sun peeking through patchy clouds like it was teasing me. The owners had left a welcome basket with fresh scones, clotted cream, and a jar of local strawberry jam – pure genius. I dumped my bags, laced up my wellies, and headed straight out for a wander, keen to shake off the road.

First impressions? Blimey, the location is spot on for walkers like me. It's right on the edge of the countryside, with footpaths snaking off into lush green fields dotted with grazing sheep. I struck out along a nearby trail towards the River Axe, just a couple of miles away – easy peasy, or so I thought. The weather was holding, a gentle breeze rustling the hedgerows heavy with blackberries. I munched a few as I went, feeling like a proper forager. The path dipped through ancient woodlands, sunlight filtering through the leaves, and I spotted a buzzard circling overhead. It was one of those moments where you just breathe it all in and think, "This is why I do these solo trips."

But oh, British weather – never a dull moment. By the time I looped back towards the cottage, the sky had turned that moody grey, and fat raindrops started plinking down. I picked up the pace, chuckling as I dodged puddles the size of small ponds. No dramatic storm, mind, just typical Devon mizzle that soaks you through without you noticing at first. Back at Austen Premier, I lit the wood burner (stocked and ready, bless them), brewed a pot of tea, and watched the rain lash the windows while cosy inside. It forced a bit of gentle reflection – I'm always rushing about in London, aren't I? Here, staring at the rivulets on the pane, I realised how brilliant it is to let plans bend with the weather. No itinerary, just me and the elements.

Saturday dawned brighter, so I was out again sharpish, this time tackling a circular hike up to the wooded hills behind the property. The paths are well-marked, winding past wildflower meadows and the odd thatched farmhouse – proper postcard stuff within a stone's throw. I clocked about five miles, lungs burning on the ups, rewarded with views over patchwork fields towards the distant coast (though I kept it local, no epic treks). Mid-morning, the clouds rolled in thick and fast, turning my sunny stroll into a squelchy adventure. Wind whipped up, whipping my hood off, and I ended up sheltering under a massive oak, sharing space with a family of ponies who eyed me like I was the intruder. Laugh out loud – me, drenched and grinning, pretending I'm Bear Grylls.

By evening, back at the cottage, the fire crackling and a pasty from the local bakery warming my belly, I was hooked. Austen Premier isn't flash – it's got that homely kitchen with an Aga, comfy sofas piled with cushions, and beams you have to duck under – but it's perfect for weather-whipped walkers. The changing skies kept me on my toes, turning every outing into a mini saga: sun-soaked bliss one minute, hasty retreat the next. It's taught me to pack that waterproof jacket and embrace the unpredictability. If you're after a Devon bolt-hole for hikes and hygge, this is the one. Can't wait to return – tea stains and all.