I finally arrived at Hazel View Lodge near Bridgwater after a bit of a faff on the M5 – nothing major, just a rogue sheep blocking the slip road near Taunton, turning what should’ve been a straightforward drive from Bristol into a 20-minute standoff with a flock of woolly protesters. Typical Somerset, I thought, as I pulled up to the lodge in the late afternoon, the sun peeking through like it was apologising for the delay.

Hazel View Lodge is one of those proper cosy spots, tucked away in a quiet corner of Sedgemoor, surrounded by lush fields that scream “proper countryside”. From the moment I stepped out of the car, lugging my wellies and a backpack stuffed with crisps and a thermos, I was smitten. The place has this perfect lodge vibe – wooden beams, a wood-burning stove begging to be lit, and massive windows framing views of rolling hills that make you forget the traffic jam back on the motorway. First impressions? Bliss. I dumped my bags, brewed a cuppa, and just stood there gazing out, feeling like I’d stumbled into a postcard.

Day one kicked off with grand plans for a hearty hike along the nearby Somerset Levels. I’d mapped out a cracking route from the lodge door – a gentle five-miler looping through damp meadows towards the Parrett River, dodging the odd drainage ditch and spotting herons along the way. The weather app promised “partly cloudy”, so I layered up in my trusty cagoule and headed out at dawn, full of beans. The paths were muddy but manageable, the air crisp with that earthy scent you only get after rain. I tramped past ancient willows and over rickety stiles, chuckling to myself about how I’d probably end up looking like a drowned rat before lunch.

But oh, British weather – you cheeky devil. Halfway round, the sky turned from fluffy white to battleship grey faster than you can say “sod’s law”. Fat raindrops started plopping down, then it proper bucketed. I sheltered under a gnarly oak, hood up, laughing at the absurdity as thunder grumbled in the distance. Plan A – epic riverside picnic – was scuppered. Instead, I squelched back to the lodge, dripping puddles in the porch, and declared victory with a fry-up in the kitchen. First impressions of Hazel View’s snug interior? Even better in the wet – I cranked the stove, toasted some teacakes, and watched the storm rage outside, feeling ridiculously content.

The next morning, undeterred, I laced up for a shorter jaunt towards the Quantock fringes, just a couple of miles off. The sun was out, playing nice, so I power-walked up breezy slopes carpeted in bracken, the wind whipping my cheeks pink. Somerset’s got these hidden gems – panoramic views over the Levels, with Glastonbury Tor teasing on the horizon like a mystical bonus. I paused for a breather on a heather-strewn bank, munching a flapjack, proper alive with the crunch of boots on gravel and the bleat of sheep. Light humour in the moment: I nearly twisted an ankle dodging a cowpat the size of a hubcap. Who needs a gym when you’ve got this?

By afternoon, cue the weather plot twist again – mist rolled in like fog from a Brontë novel, turning the path into a slippery adventure. Visibility dropped to nil, so I pivoted to a woodland wander closer to home, weaving through dripping hazel copses that gave the lodge its name. The rain pattered softly, turning everything silver and sparkly. Back at base, cosy as you like, I reflected gently over a pint of local ale: these weather-whipped walks had stripped away the city noise in my head. No grand epiphanies, just a quiet nod that sometimes getting soaked and sidetracked is the best way to truly arrive somewhere. Hazel View Lodge? First impressions sealed it as my new happy place – mud, mist and all. Can’t wait to go back.