I’ll never forget the drive down to Bath – me behind the wheel of our little hatchback, sat-nav chirping away like it knew best, and my other half navigating with a map app that decided to throw a wobbly just as we hit the outskirts. We ended up looping round some cheeky one-way system twice, arguing over whether to trust the robot voice or my gut. Classic us, turning a two-hour journey from the Midlands into a three-hour comedy of errors. But honestly, that little mishap set the tone for the whole trip: getting lost was going to be the best bit.

Pulling up to the property, my heart did a little flip of excitement – this cosy terraced cottage with its welcoming Georgian vibes felt like slipping into a hug after the road rage. Tucked away in a quiet residential spot, it was all low ceilings, squishy sofas, and a kitchen that begged for lazy breakfasts. First impressions? Spot on. We dumped the bags, cracked open a couple of tins, and within minutes were plotting our escape from the tourist trail.

Bath’s got its famous spots, sure, but we were here for the hidden corners you stumble on by accident. Day one, we wandered off-piste from the centre, aiming for a pub lunch but veering down a narrow lane behind the Royal Crescent. Lost? Absolutely. Reward? This tiny tucked-away garden square where locals were having picnics under blossom trees. No crowds, just us, a thermos of tea, and a view that made you forget the sat-nav fiasco entirely. We laughed about how we’d never have found it with a guidebook.

Next morning, fueled by the cottage’s brilliant coffee machine, we got properly lost again – heading uphill past the assembly rooms, then taking a wrong turn into what felt like a secret neighbourhood. Stumbled on the prettiest little community orchard, all wonky apple trees and wildflowers, with a bench that screamed “sit here and ponder life”. I had one of those gentle moments then, munching a scavenged pear, thinking how daft it is we spend so much time rushing about at home. Why not get lost more often? It’s in the detours you find the real magic.

Afternoon took us meandering along the canal towpath, away from the selfie sticks, until we accidentally discovered a hidden weir where the water tumbled like a private waterfall. Ducks quacking, herons posing – pure bliss. We picnicked on cheese sarnies from a corner deli we’d lucked into earlier, feet dangling over the edge. Evening? Back to the cottage for a rummage through board games, then a short stagger to a no-frills boozer down the road we’d spotted by chance. Proper ale, chatty regulars, zero pretension.

Our last day sealed it: lost in the backstreets near the abbey, we unearthed a volunteer-run pocket park with beehives and storytelling benches. Sat there reading aloud from a dog-eared book we’d found in the cottage, reflecting on how these offbeat finds made the holiday. Bath’s brilliance isn’t the big names; it’s the accidental gems that stick with you. Can’t wait to lose myself there again.