I’ll never forget the drive up to Buxton last month – the sat-nav decided to play silly buggers just as we hit the winding roads near Bakewell, sending us on a wild detour through some sheep-dotted lanes that weren’t even on the map. We ended up laughing our heads off, windows down, munching on emergency pork scratchings from the glovebox, with me muttering about how I should’ve trusted my instincts over technology. But honestly, that little mishap was the perfect teaser – by the time we rolled into town, hearts racing with anticipation, I was buzzing to see what this Peak District jaunt had in store.

Pulling up to our second-floor apartment in that grand old Grade II listed mansion right next to Pavilion Gardens felt like stumbling into a proper treat. The sweeping park views from the windows hit us straight away – lush green lawns stretching out, families picnicking below – and with parking sorted in a flash, we were up the stairs in no time, bags thumping. Stepping inside, it was all light and airy: a cracking kitchen-diner with high ceilings and everything you’d need for a self-catered bash, then two steps up to the living area with its plush sofas begging for a Netflix binge, framed by those gardens. The bedrooms were spot on too – one with a massive super-king bed, en-suite tub for soaking off the day’s mud, and a twin next door with its own walk-in shower. Proper home-from-home vibes, ideal for me, the missus, and our two lads.

We’d planned the big hitters like the Opera House and Botanical Gardens, but the real magic happened when we veered off the beaten track, quite literally getting lost in the best way. First morning, instead of heading straight for the crowds at Poole’s Cavern, we followed a whim down a side path from the gardens into Corndtier Wood – a hidden pocket of ancient oaks and babbling brooks we’d never have found on a map. Sunlight dappling through the leaves, bluebells everywhere even in August, and not a soul in sight. The boys charged ahead like explorers, and I had one of those dad moments, pausing to reflect on how these unplanned scrambles beat any itinerary. Felt a proper twit for ever relying on apps.

Next day, we “accidentally” missed the turn for Solomon’s Temple and tumbled into a lesser-known trail looping around Grin Low Woods. Narrow paths twisting through fern-choked gullies, sudden viewpoints over Buxton’s rooftops – pure serendipity. We picnicked on cheese toasties from the breakfast bar, spotting roe deer darting off. Evenings back at the flat, takeaways from the high street wolfed down at the dining table, we’d pore over soggy Ordnance Survey maps, plotting the next daft detour. One evening led us to a tucked-away dell by the River Wye, just a mile out, where the water carved secret whirlpools and wild garlic scented the air – a gem we dubbed our own after getting properly turned around.

That’s the Peak District for you: it rewards the wanderers. Our stay was a reminder to ditch the plans sometimes, embrace the lost hours, and let the hidden corners reveal themselves. Can’t wait to go back and lose ourselves all over again.