I’ll never forget the drive down to Sussex last month – me behind the wheel of our little hatchback, sat-nav chirping away like it owned the road, and my partner dozing in the passenger seat. We’d left London early, aiming for that bright and modern third-floor balcony apartment in central Brighton, the one with killer views over the rooftops towards the i360 and the sea. But halfway there, disaster struck: I took a wrong turn onto some cheeky A-road diversion, and suddenly we were crawling behind a tractor hauling hay bales. Half an hour lost, and I’m sweating like a novice at a pub quiz. Still, it gave us a laugh – “Well, at least we’re not in a rush for the pier,” I quipped, as we finally spotted Brighton’s twinkling skyline.

Pulling up, my heart did a little flip of anticipation – would it live up to the photos? Stepping inside, though, it was love at first sight. Spacious open-plan living room, all light and airy, and that private balcony begging for morning coffees with the world buzzing below. You could practically feel the sea air nipping at your heels, with the pier’s lights winking in the distance. Amenities everywhere: shops a stone’s throw, pubs even closer, and the train station just a stroll away. Perfect for a couple’s seaside jaunt.

But here’s the thing – we didn’t go chasing the big icons. No, our best bits came from proper getting lost, stumbling on hidden gems by accident. First afternoon, we wandered off the North Laine’s bustle, ducking down a side street near the Pavilion gardens. Ended up at the Brighton Open Air Theatre in Preston Park – who knew? A tiny outdoor stage tucked in lush greenery, where we caught a free acoustic set from some local folkies. Picnicked on Waitrose sarnies, toes in the grass, as the sun dipped. Pure magic, and not a tourist in sight.

Next day, aiming for the beach but veering left instead of right, we found ourselves in the Hanover district’s back lanes. Stumbled upon the Freebutt, a ramshackle little music pub with graffiti walls and the best veggie burgers this side of the Channel. Live jazz spilling out, locals chatting like old mates – we nursed pints of Harvey’s and felt like we’d gatecrashed the best party. Later, looping through the alleys off Islingword Road, we hit Pelicano Coffee, a hole-in-the-wall roastery where the barista roasted beans on-site. Flat white heaven, with street art murals that screamed proper Brighton vibe.

One evening, post-balcony sundowners gazing at the i360’s glow, we got properly turned around in the Kemptown maze. Reward? The hidden gem of the Brighton Fishing Museum – yes, really, a quirky shed of nets and old boats, free entry, run by a salty old chap with tales of storms and smugglers. We laughed our way through, then ambled to the pebble beach at 0.2 miles’ coast, dipping toes in the chilly waves.

Looking back, that little mishap on the drive was a sign – the best holidays aren’t planned to death. Getting lost in Brighton’s warren led us to these offbeat spots, away from the selfie sticks. Made me reflect: sometimes, the sat-nav in life needs switching off. We left buzzing, already plotting the next wander. If you’re after a perch to watch Sussex unfold, this apartment’s your spot.