I’ll never forget the drive down to Bath – sat nav had me convinced I was nearly there, then some cheeky roadworks popped up out of nowhere and I ended up doing a full loop around a one-way system that felt like it was designed by a sadist. Still, by the time I pulled up, the anticipation was buzzing; I could already picture cosy evenings after a day pounding the pavements.

The apartment was a beaut – this beautiful, well-presented spot in the perfect location to explore the exciting city of Bath and its many attractions. Walking distance to popular tearooms, pubs, and restaurants right on the doorstep, with the theatre close by and world-famous spas in the area, you’re spoilt for choice. First impressions? Spot on. It felt like slipping into someone’s lovely home, all welcoming and lived-in without the fuss.

No sooner had I unpacked than I wandered out for a nose around, and that’s when the real fun kicked off. First up was Madge, the lady from the tearoom on the corner – must be in her seventies, with a laugh like a foghorn and stories for days. “New in town, love?” she asked, plonking down a massive scone with clotted cream that could’ve fed a family. Turned out she’d lived in Bath her whole life, regaling me with tales of the time the Roman Baths flooded during a storm and everyone just carried on supping tea. “Bathers are resilient,” she winked. “We’ve got history in our veins.” I ended up staying an hour, chuckling at her impersonations of posh spa-goers slipping on the wet pavements.

Next evening, propping up the bar at the pub round the bend was Terry, a retired train driver with a beard like a wizard’s and opinions on everything. He clocked my accent straight away – “Up from London, eh? You lot think Bath’s quaint, but wait till you hear about the ghost in the Theatre Royal!” We got chatting about the place’s quirks, him insisting the best pasty in town was from a hidden spot by Pulteney Bridge, run by his mate Sid who “adds a secret herb no one can guess.” Terry’s the sort who’d argue the toss over whether Sally Lunn’s buns beat the competition (they do, obviously), but in that endearing way that makes you feel like family after five minutes.

The spa day was the highlight, though – bumped into quirky couple, Janet and Ron, in the queue for the Thermae Bath Spa. She was a yoga teacher with wild stories of eccentric locals who swear by the waters for everything from arthritis to bad moods, while he was a former postman who’d delivered to half of Bath’s nobs. “Met Jane Austen’s ghost once,” Ron deadpanned, “or was it just the gin?” We swapped numbers and ended up at a riverside pub later, them insisting I try the local cider that “tastes like summer in a glass.”

Looking back, it wasn’t the sights that made the trip – though the Abbey and bridges are magic – it was these characters who brought Bath alive. Made me reflect on how we rush about, missing the gems right under our noses. If you’re after a holiday that feels like crashing at a mate’s with bonus history, this is it. Proper tonic for the soul.