I’ll never forget the drive up to Buxton last month – we’d packed the car with enough crisps and tea bags to last a siege, but halfway through the Peak District, the sat-nav decided to throw a wobbly and sent us down a narrow lane that looked more like a sheep’s personal runway. Branches scraped the roof, and I’m yelling at the screen like it could hear me, while the kids in the back giggle and film it for TikTok. Classic family holiday start, right? But honestly, that little detour set the tone – we ended up ditching the main roads entirely and stumbling on the sort of hidden corners you don’t find in guidebooks.

Pulling up to the place, my heart did a little flip of excitement; it looked just perfect, this welcoming terraced house right in the heart of things, all cosy and ready for us. Stepping inside, the first impressions were spot on – that big kitchen-dining space screamed family feasts, and we wasted no time cracking open a bottle of fizz at the table before collapsing on the sofa for a film. Four cracking bedrooms sorted us out nicely: the family one with its double and single plus telly, a massive king-size double with its own screen for lazy lie-ins, and another double-single combo. The bathroom was pure bliss too – that freestanding bath called my name after the drive, and the shower was hotel-standard refreshing.

But the real magic? Getting properly lost. Forget the tourist traps; we wanted those accidental gems. Day one, we wandered off down a side path from Poole’s Cavern – not the cave itself, mind, but this unmarked trail that twisted into a pocket of woodland where the only company was a cheeky robin and sunlight dappling through the leaves. Found a babbling brook perfect for paddling, the kids splashing about while I pretended not to notice my socks getting soaked. Pure, unfiltered Peak District bliss.

Next morning, we parked up near Solomon’s Temple and ignored the obvious route, veering left onto a grassy track that led to this forgotten viewpoint over Goyt Valley. No crowds, just us munching butties with views that stretched forever – misty hills rolling out like a watercolour painting. I sat there with a cuppa, having one of those quiet moments where you think, blimey, when did life get this good? We’d planned bugger all, but that’s the joy of it – no itinerary, just ambling until your legs ache.

Afternoon took us meandering from Pavilion Gardens, ducking into a labyrinth of hedges that spat us out at a tucked-away dell with wildflowers and a stone bench. Picnicked there like locals, the littluns building fairy houses from sticks. Evenings back at the house, we’d cook up a storm in that brilliant kitchen, toasting our daft discoveries. It’s funny – I always overpack for these trips, worrying about every what-if, but this time, letting ourselves get lost taught me to loosen up. The Peaks have a way of sorting you out like that. If you’re after proper off-the-beaten-path magic, this is your spot – go on, lose yourself a bit. You won’t regret it.