I’ll never forget the drive to our Autograph Kos Hot Tub 2 Bedroom Luxury Lodge near Salisbury – a proper Wiltshire jaunt that started with a comedy of errors. We’d piled into the car from Bristol, me navigating with my trusty phone, hubby at the wheel, and the dog squeezed in the back with our wellies. About halfway, just past the A36, I realised I’d forgotten the picnic hamper at home. “No matter,” I said breezily, “we’ll grab pasties in Salisbury.” But the real kicker? The sat-nav decided to have a sulk near the New Forest edges, rerouting us down a muddy farm track that had us sliding about like we were in a rally. We emerged laughing, caked in splatters, arriving at the lodge just as the afternoon light was turning golden over the chalk downs.

Pulling up to this luxury lodge was like stumbling into a posh hideaway straight out of a Sunday supplement. Tucked in a serene spot within easy walking distance of Salisbury’s trails – think rolling hills and ancient woodlands – it’s the sort of place that whispers “relax” before you’ve even unpacked. The two bedrooms were snug yet swish, with those massive windows framing views of the Wiltshire countryside that had me grinning like a kid. And the hot tub? Perched on the private deck, steaming invitingly under a pergola – our reward after whatever the weather threw at us. First impressions? Blimey, it felt like we’d won the holiday lottery. Spacious open-plan living area with a telly bigger than our lounge at home, a kitchen kitted out for serious feast-making, and that tub begging for a dip.

Day one, we were raring for a hike. Wiltshire’s paths are legendary – we aimed for the short loop along the River Avon trails, just a mile or so from the lodge, past Old Sarum’s grassy ramparts. The forecast promised sun, so off we trotted, thermos in hand, dog bounding ahead. Blue skies, buzzing bees, sheep bleating on the hills – proper pastoral bliss. We wandered those chalky tracks, spotting buzzards wheeling overhead, the air crisp with that earthy scent you only get in the South West. Halfway round, we perched on a stile for cheese rolls (supermarket ones, mind – hamper fail still stung), toasting with flask coffee to our good fortune. “This is living,” I sighed, stretching my legs.

But oh, British weather – you cheeky devil. By evening, as we planned a sunset stroll back towards the lodge via some local woodland paths, the heavens opened. Not a drizzle, a proper deluge, turning the trails to slippy mush. We dashed back, soaked to the skin, collapsing in hysterics on the deck under the pergola. The hot tub saved the day – bubbling away like a jacuzzi miracle, we stripped off our sopping layers and slid in, steam rising into the mizzling rain. Pint of lager from the offy in hand (grabbed en route that morning), we watched the downpour drum on the water, the lodge lights glowing warm behind us. Hilarious, really – us prunes in the tub, dog eyeing us jealously from his bed.

Next morning, day two dawned misty, so we adapted like pros. A gentle amble along the flatter riverside paths near the lodge, hoods up against the drizzle, dodging puddles the size of ponds. Wiltshire’s got that magic where even grey skies make the greens pop – hawthorn hedges dripping, the Avon murmuring along. We cut it short when thunder grumbled, retreating for hot tub therapy number two. Light-hearted moans about my “weather jinx,” but honestly, it sparked a quiet moment for me. Sat there, bubbles churning, rain pattering, I reflected on how these unplanned twists – the mud, the wet walks – are what stick. Not the perfect sun, but the soggy laughs, the cosy lodge pulling us back. By evening, a break in the clouds let us hike a quick loop up the nearest downland slope, wind whipping our cheeks, before tub time sealed it.

Our three days flew, all wrapped in Wiltshire’s walking wonders and weather whims. That lodge? First impressions nailed it – luxury base for whatever Mother Nature dished up. Can’t wait to go back.