I’ll never forget the drive to Over Haddon – what was meant to be a straightforward jaunt from Bakewell turned into a proper comedy of errors. Sat-nav decided to play silly buggers, sending us down a narrow lane that pinched tighter than my jeans after Christmas dinner. We ended up reversing into a patch of mud while a sheep stared at us like we’d gatecrashed its birthday party. My other half, ever the optimist, quipped, “Well, at least we’re off-roading now!” By the time we arrived, caked in splatter and giggling like idiots, I was half-expecting the cottage to be a disappointment after all that faff.

But oh, what a first impression! Pulling up to this beautiful cottage, perfect for romantic breaks, tucked away in the picture-perfect village of Over Haddon in the Peak District National Park, it was love at first sight. Pretty detached and all cosied up in its surroundings, it looked like it had been waiting just for us. The anticipation had been building all week – visions of cosy evenings by the fire, hand-in-hand walks through the dales – and stepping inside blew every expectation away. The place just wrapped you in warmth, with that inviting glow from the windows as dusk settled over the hills.

We dumped our bags (and shook off the mud) and immediately cracked open a bottle of wine on the little patio, watching the village lights flicker on. First impressions? Spot on. It felt like slipping into your favourite slippers after a long day – comfy, unpretentious, and utterly charming. That night, we wandered down to the nearby Lathkill Dale, just a short stroll away, where the river burbled along under the fading light. It was magical, the air crisp with that proper Peak District freshness, and we spotted a heron fishing like a pro. Back at the cottage, supper was simple – local Bakewell pudding from the village shop (couldn’t resist) and cheese from a nearby farm, scoffed at the kitchen table with the radio humming in the background.

The next morning, still buzzing from the arrival drama, we headed out for a gentle hike up to Over Haddon’s viewpoint. The paths were alive with wildflowers and the odd cheeky rabbit darting about, and from up there, the rolling dales stretched out like a postcard. I had a quiet moment of self-reflection, leaning on a dry-stone wall, thinking how these little mishaps – the mud, the lost signals – make the best memories. Without them, we might’ve missed that shared laugh that bonded us even closer. It’s funny how a bumpy start sharpens the joy of the good bits.

We spent the rest of the days pottering around: a pub lunch at the village local, where the landlord knew everyone’s name (classic Peak District hospitality), and lazy afternoons reading in the garden, with bees buzzing lazily nearby. No grand adventures, just pure, restorative bliss. If you’re after a romantic bolt-hole that ticks every box, this corner of Over Haddon delivers in spades. Can’t wait to go back – mud and all.