I’ll never forget the drive up to Northumberland last month – sat nav decided to throw a wobbly just south of Morpeth, sending us down a narrow lane that turned into a muddy track. Heart in my mouth, I gripped the wheel while my other half laughed nervously about ending up in a cow field. Twenty minutes of reversing and U-turns later, we finally rolled into Warkworth, both a bit frazzled but buzzing with that holiday anticipation. What if this was the start of something magical?

Pulling up to our beautifully decorated first-floor apartment at the end of a row of terraced cottages, I was smitten straight away. Tucked right by the riverbank with its peaceful walks and just a hop from the village heart, it felt like our own little secret hideaway. Perfect for us two, with space for a small family if needed. Unpacking done, we wandered out, no real plan, just eager to breathe in the place.

That’s when the real adventure kicked off – getting properly lost in the best way. Aiming for the beach a mile away, we veered off down a riverside path we’d not spotted before. It led us to this hidden gem: a tucked-away spot where the River Coquet widens into a glassy pool, herons fishing lazily and wildflowers nodding in the breeze. No crowds, just us and the water’s gentle lap. We picnicked there on cheese rolls from the village bakery, chuckling about how maps are for amateurs.

Next day, another accidental detour. Meant to head to Amble’s harbour – only two miles up the road for fresh seafood and puffin boat trips – but a wrong turn took us along a winding trail behind the village. Stumbled on an old hermit’s cave, half-forgotten by the path, with whispers of medieval history etched into the rock. Sat there with a thermos of tea, feeling a proper daft moment of self-reflection: why do I always rush through life at home? Here, losing the way was the point.

Warkworth itself is a cracker for these off-the-beaten surprises. A casual stroll to the dramatic ruined castle – you can’t miss it looming over everything – but we found a sneaky back gate leading to overgrown gardens where nobody else seemed to go. Rabbits scarpering, views over the village that felt like our private postcard. From there, we looped to the beach, but again, sidetracked by a footpath signposted ‘to the dunes’. Ended up at a secluded cove, waves whispering secrets, seals bobbing offshore. Bliss.

Even Druridge Bay, 4.5 miles up the coast, delivered when we ‘missed’ the main road. Parked by some scrubby dunes and discovered a birdwatchers’ paradise – avocets and little egrets darting about in the shallows, with not a soul in sight. Hiked back via reed-fringed paths, spotting kingfishers flashing blue. And Alnmouth’s golf links, five minutes further, tempted us for a putt, but we got lost en route to a wildflower meadow instead – butterflies everywhere, pure poetry.

Staying put in that cosy apartment, cooking up local crab from Amble’s harbour, we reflected on how the best holidays aren’t planned to death. Northumberland’s got this knack for rewarding the wanderers, turning mishaps into memories. If you fancy ditching the crowds for your own hidden corners, Warkworth’s calling. We’re already plotting a return.