I finally made it to Bath after what felt like the world's most chaotic drive down from Bristol. I'd been buzzing with excitement all morning—visions of steaming buns from Sally Lunn's and a lazy stroll along the Avon dancing in my head—but then sat-nav decided to throw a proper wobbly. It rerouted me down some tiny lane that was basically a goat track, complete with a cheeky pothole that sent my coffee mug flying into the passenger footwell. Soggy jeans and a muttered "brilliant" later, I pulled up to the holiday lodge, heart racing a bit from the near-miss with a low-hanging branch. Still, as I stepped out, the fresh air hit me like a reset button, and there it was: this cosy wooden lodge tucked into a peaceful spot just on the edge of town, all warm and inviting with its sloped roof and little veranda begging for a cuppa.

First impressions? Absolute gold dust. I fumbled the key code twice—nerves, probably—before the door swung open to reveal a surprisingly roomy open-plan space, sunlight streaming through the big windows onto squishy sofas and a kitchen that screamed "cook a full English without breaking a sweat." It was one of those self-catering spots that's spot-on for a solo wanderer like me, with everything you need but none of the fuss. I dumped my bags, kicked off my damp trainers, and just stood there grinning like an idiot. After the drive drama, it felt like sinking into a hug.

Wandering out for that first proper explore was pure magic. A quick five-minute amble took me to the canal path, where I watched narrowboats chug along, ducks quacking for crumbs. I nipped into the centre—Bath's compact like that—and grabbed a pasty from a bakery that smelled like heaven. Sat on a bench by Pulteney Bridge, munching away, watching the weir tumble over rocks, I couldn't help but chuckle at myself. Here I was, mid-forties, still getting lost on country lanes like a teenager on their first road trip. Why do I always pack light but overthink the route? It's my little ritual, I suppose—turning a simple journey into an unintended adventure. Keeps life spicy, right?

The afternoon melted into easy bliss: pottered around the Roman Baths (queues be damned, that steam rising from the water is hypnotic), then back to the lodge for a brew on the decking, listening to birdsong instead of traffic. No grand plans, just that glow of a place that clicks instantly. Dinner was a rummage in the cupboards—pasta sorted—and as the sun dipped, casting a golden haze over the trees, I thought, yeah, this is why I do these getaways. Mishaps and all, Bath's got that knack of wrapping you up in its charm from the off. Can't wait for day two.