I’ll never forget the drive down to the Forest of Dean – we’d packed the car with enough books and snacks to last a siege, but about ten miles from Cinderford, the sat-nav decided to throw a wobbly and sent us looping down a muddy track that looked more like a badger run than a road. Cue me reversing into a hedge while the dog barked like it was the end times. Still, we laughed it off, and as we finally trundled up to the cottage, that knot of anticipation in my stomach unwound into pure relief. Nestled right on the edge of peaceful woodland, with its fellow neighbours Horseshoe View Cottage No 2 and the River View Hideaway annexe just a stone’s throw away, it was love at first sight – all cosy nooks and welcoming vibes, like it was waiting to hug us hello.

From the off, it was clear this was the spot for doing precisely nowt, and I mean that in the best possible way. After the faff of the journey, we dumped the bags, cracked open a flask of tea, and flopped into the garden chairs. The woodland fringe was so close you could hear the rustle of leaves and the odd deer snuffling about – proper peaceful, it was. No grand plans, just the joy of slowing right down. I’d brought a stack of paperbacks I’d been meaning to crack for months, and there they stayed, one after another, sprawled under a blanket on a lounger while the sun filtered through the trees.

Lazy mornings blurred into afternoons of gentle wandering – nothing strenuous, mind. There’s a nature reserve practically on the doorstep, alive with wild boar rooting around, sheep ambling past, deer tiptoeing through the undergrowth, and even Highland cattle eyeing you up like you’re the intruder. We’d potter along the edge for ten minutes, just enough to stretch the legs, then back for more reading in the garden, maybe a picnic of cheese sarnies and flask coffee. It’s a haven for walkers and cyclists too, with those cracking footpaths and routes weaving off into the forest, but us? We were all about the slow lane. One day we ambled a bit further to the Sculpture Trail – loved the quirky wooden and metal creations popping out from the trees, like the forest had got artistic overnight. Didn’t rush it; stopped for snaps, a bit of pondering, then rewarded ourselves with coffee and cake at Beechenhurst. Heaven.

There’s something magic about April here, too – we timed it just right for that carpet of wild bluebells stretching for miles, turning the whole woodland into a dreamy haze. I’d sit there with a book half-forgotten in my lap, just watching the light shift, and feel this quiet glow. Made me reflect a bit, you know? Back home, life’s a mad dash – deadlines, emails, the lot. Here, achieving bugger all felt like the biggest win. No guilt, just contentment. The dog chased shadows in the garden, we dozed in the sun, and evenings were for simple suppers and stargazing from the doorstep. Who needs adventures when unwinding is this good? If you’re after a proper break to recharge, this corner of the Dean is your ticket – pure, unadulterated bliss.