I’ll never forget the drive up to Longnor last weekend – we took the scenic route from Buxton, winding through those lush Peak District valleys, but about five miles out, I managed to take a wrong turn onto a single-track lane. Cue ten minutes of reversing round hairpin bends with my partner yelling directions from Google Maps, both of us in stitches. “This is why we don’t let you navigate,” she laughed. Still, by the time we pulled up, the anticipation was buzzing – we’d booked this cracking little modern apartment tucked inside an old water-powered saw mill right in the village heart, and from the outside, it looked like the perfect cosy hideaway.

Stepping inside blew us away. The open-plan space felt so welcoming, with light flooding through those handmade arched windows onto a gorgeous wooden fitted kitchen – oven, microwave, induction hob, the lot. We dumped our bags and cracked open a bottle of wine straight away, toasting our great first impressions. It was just us two, and honestly, it screamed romantic getaway without trying too hard.

We’d planned this trip around eating like locals, and Longnor delivered in spades. First night, we didn’t even venture out – I fancied playing masterchef in that slick kitchen. Grabbed some fresh eggs, bacon, and crusty bread from the village shop that morning (they stock the basics brilliantly), and whipped up a full English. Okay, confession: my fried eggs were a bit more scrambled than sunny-side-up, but slathered in HP sauce, it hit the spot. We snuggled on the plush two-seater sofa after, feet up, bingeing a rubbish rom-com on the telly. Luxe king-size bed called us early, and we slept like logs.

Next day, we wandered to the farmers’ market in nearby Hartington – just a short hop, really. Blimey, the stalls were heaving with Peak District goodies: artisan cheeses from the creamery there (that Buxton Blue is unreal, tangy and crumbly), local pork pies still warm from the oven, and heaps of fresh veg. We loaded up on Derbyshire oatcakes, smoked trout, and a slab of Stilton, chatting with the producers who knew every farmer by name. Back at the flat, lunch was oatcakes toasted on the hob, topped with cheese and trout – simple, but dead authentic. My other half rated it better than any posh café.

Evenings were pub time. The next one was Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese in Longnor itself – proper village boozer with low ceilings and a roaring fire. We demolished fish and chips (crisp batter, chunky chips, mushy peas on the side) washed down with a pint of bitter. Another night, over in Earl Sterndale at the quiet little pub there, it was Sunday roast heaven: juicy roast beef, Yorkshire puds the size of saucers, and gravy you could swim in. We staggered back, full as ticks, for a nightcap in our sunny living space.

Cooking disasters aside – burnt toast incident on day three, anyone? – it was pure bliss. Made me reflect on how we rush through life back home, never slowing for proper meals. This spot forced us to savour every bite, every chat over a home-cooked supper. If you’re after a foodie escape in Derbyshire, hunt down a gem like this. We’re already plotting our return.