I’ll never forget the drive to Blakeney – we’d packed the car with enough snacks to feed a small army, but halfway there, just past Cinderford, the satnav decided to throw a wobbly and sent us down a narrow lane that felt more like a sheep track. Bumping along with branches scraping the roof, I was convinced we’d end up in someone’s back garden, but we emerged laughing, right on time for that first glimpse of the Forest of Dean rolling out ahead. By the time we pulled up to this cracking little apartment – a smartly done-up spot tucked into a hillside coach house with smashing views over Lydney and the countryside – I was buzzing with anticipation. It looked proper inviting from the off, all cosy and modern inside, perfect for kicking back after a day out.

We’d planned this holiday around eating, you see – no grand hikes or anything, just proper noshing and pub crawls in the area. First morning, I nipped into Lydney market, just a quick drive down the hill. It’s one of those proper local jobs, stalls heaving with fresh veg, artisan cheeses, and plump sausages from nearby farms. I grabbed a bundle of carrots, some earthy beetroot, and a wedge of crumbly Forest cheddar that smelled like heaven. Back at the flat, with its handy kitchen kitted out nicely, I fancied myself as a bit of a chef. Roasted the veg with rosemary from the owner’s herb patch (they’d left a welcome note with tips), chucked in those sausages, and served it up with a dollop of mustard. It was a right mess – the beets stained everything pink, and I nearly set off the smoke alarm – but we scoffed the lot, glass of local cider in hand, gazing out at the view. Made me reflect a bit, actually; back home I’m always rushing meals, but here, faffing about in the kitchen felt like proper time well spent.

Evenings were for the pubs, and Blakeney’s got a gem in the Owlpen Inn, just a stroll away through the woods. Proper old-school boozer with a roaring fire and locals who chat like you’re mates already. We went for their pie night – steak and ale, flaky pastry, chips that didn’t need ketchup. Washed down with a pint of Dean ale, brewed right in the Forest. Next day, we tried the Horse and Groom in Lydney, where the landlady recommended the Gloucestershire Old Spot pork belly. Crispy crackling, melt-in-the-mouth meat – I’m still dreaming about it. Tried cooking that one myself mid-week, using pork from the market, but my crackling didn’t quite crisp up. Laughable really, but the family didn’t mind; we just slathered it in apple sauce and called it character.

One highlight was a lazy lunch at the Severnbank Inn, overlooking the estuary – fresh fish specials, mussels in cider cream that were divine. And don’t get me started on the breakfasts I attempted: local bacon, eggs from a farm stall, fried up while the sun rose over the hills. It wasn’t all gourmet triumphs; there was that burnt toast incident that had us in stitches, but that’s holidays for you. By the end of the week, bellies full and a stone heavier, we were gutted to leave. This spot’s a foodie’s dream – markets for ingredients, pubs for the real deals, and a kitchen that makes you want to linger. If you’re after a break where the eating’s the main event, get yourself down here. Proper treat.