I’ve just got back from the most gloriously lazy week in a cracking holiday cottage in County Durham, and honestly, it’s taken me a good few days to readjust to the real world. Tucked away in the gentle hills near Barnard Castle, this place was pure bliss – a cosy stone-built gem with all the luxury trimmings, but the real star? Doing absolutely bugger all, and loving every minute of it.

From the moment we arrived, after a straightforward drive up the A66 with the Dales rolling by, I knew this was going to be about switching off. No grand plans, no ticking off tourist spots like the Bowes Museum or Weardale hikes – though they’re all fab if you’re that way inclined. Nah, we were here to embrace the art of lounging. The cottage had this massive picture window overlooking a private garden that backed onto farmland, where sheep ambled about like they owned the place. I’d flop into the squishy leather sofa with a cuppa, watching the clouds scoot over the fells, and think, “This is living.”

The hot tub was the undisputed hero, though. Nestled on the wooden deck, steaming away under a pergola strung with fairy lights, it called to me like a siren every afternoon. I’d sink in with a chilled cider from the local Weardale brewery we’d grabbed on the way (Durham’s craft beer scene is sneaky good), bubbles fizzing around me as the sun dipped low. One evening, I stayed in there so long my fingers pruned up like old raisins, and I swear I saw a barn owl ghost past in the twilight. Pure magic. No rushing about – just me, the jets massaging my knackered shoulders from desk life, and the distant bleat of lambs. It was like the world hit pause.

Days blurred into this dreamy rhythm of reading and scoffing. I devoured three paperbacks – a cracking historical yarn about the Durham coal mines and a couple of mindless thrillers – sprawled on the window seat with a blanket and endless refills of tea from the cottage’s fancy kettle. Breakfast was lazy fry-ups with local sausages from the farm shop in nearby Teesdale, eaten at the oak table without a care for the clock. Lunch? Cheeseboard and chutney from the deli in Richmond (a quick five-minute drive if we fancied stretching our legs), devoured back in the garden. Dinner was often takeaways from the chippy in the village – mushy peas and all – because why faff in the kitchen when you’ve got a hot tub waiting?

There was this one moment of gentle self-reflection that hit me mid-afternoon on day three. I was paddling about in the hot tub, book abandoned on the side, staring at nothing much, when it dawned on me: back home, I’m always chasing the next thing – emails, errands, that nagging to-do list. Here, in this bubble of County Durham calm, I’d forgotten what it felt like to just *be*. No guilt, no FOMO. It was a quiet reminder that slowing down isn’t slacking; it’s what we’re wired for. Made me chuckle at myself – me, the eternal busybody, finally getting the memo.

We did venture out once, for a gentle mooch along the River Tees at Low Force – ten minutes away, proper waterfall views without the sweat of a proper ramble. But even that was half-arsed; we picnicked on the grass and headed back for more tub time. Light humour in the air too – my mate Dave, who’d come along, kept joking he was turning into a prune, but we both knew we’d have extended the stay if we could.

By the end of the week, I felt recharged, not from doing loads, but from doing sweet FA in the best possible way. If you’re after a luxury let in Durham that lets you unwind proper – think wood-burner evenings, rainfall showers, and that hot tub heaven – book one like this. County Durham’s got the lot: unspoilt countryside, friendly locals, and zero pressure. I’m already plotting a return. Who needs adrenaline when you’ve got inertia?