I’ll never forget the drive down to Brockenhurst last month – we’d packed the car to the brim with wellies, board games and enough snacks to feed a small army, only for the sat-nav to chuck us into a cheeky detour through some narrow lanes where free-roaming ponies eyed us suspiciously from the verges. One particularly bold one even stuck its head right up to the window, giving my youngest a proper fright and turning our crisps into confetti. Typical us, arriving in a flap, but honestly, that little mishap just amped up the anticipation. As we finally rolled into the village, the New Forest unfolded like a proper postcard – ancient trees whispering secrets, deer darting across the road, and that fresh, earthy smell you can’t bottle.

Pulling up to our contemporary apartment right in the heart of Brockenhurst felt like striking gold. Tucked above the village’s cosy wine bar, it had this perfect blend of modern comfort and that welcoming New Forest vibe – think plush sofas for sprawling out, a kitchen stocked for lazy fry-ups, and big windows framing the comings and goings below. First impressions? Spot on. We dumped the bags, cracked open a few drinks from the bar downstairs (cheers to not having to drive for that!), and just soaked it in. The kids were already plotting pony-spotting missions, and I could feel the city stress melting away.

The next few days were pure family chaos in the best way – simple pleasures like morning walks where we’d dodge donkeys ambling down the high street and cows blocking the path to the village shop for ice creams. Brockenhurst is brilliant for that unhurried pace; we rented bikes from a local spot and pedalled gentle loops through the forest trails, stopping for picnics under the oaks. The ponies are everywhere – grazing on verges, photobombing selfies – and we had a laugh when one nicked an apple from our picnic basket. “Mum, it’s like living in a zoo!” my daughter giggled, and she wasn’t wrong.

Evenings were for pottering back to the apartment, rustling up pasta while the aroma of pub grub wafted up from below. We wandered to one of the nearby country pubs – just a short stroll away – for hearty pies and a pint, swapping stories with locals about the best deer-watching spots. No grand plans, just that lovely rhythm of forest rambles by day and board games by night, with the odd train trip on the cards for Bournemouth’s beaches if the weather turned (it didn’t, thankfully).

Looking back, it was one of those holidays that sneaks up on you. Amid the pony-chasing pandemonium and inevitable sibling squabbles over the remote, I caught myself thinking how rare it is to just *be* – no schedules, no screens (well, mostly), surrounded by wild beauty and family giggles. We left with muddy boots, full bellies and a promise to return. If you’re after a relaxed New Forest escape with kids, this is the spot – ponies and all.