I’ll never forget the drive down to Porthleven – sat nav insisted on taking us through some twisty lanes that felt like they were leading to Narnia, and wouldn’t you know it, we had a proper comedy moment when the car decided to throw a wobbly right in the middle of nowhere. Flat tyre, naturally, just as the sun was dipping low over the Cornish hills. Me and the other half faffing about with the spare, laughing at how we looked like a couple of amateurs from a sitcom. Took us an hour, but we made it just as the light was fading, buzzing with that anticipation of finally kicking back after the faff.

Pulling up to the property, a cosy little detached cottage tucked away in a quiet spot near Truro, we were smitten straight off. It had this welcoming vibe, all snug and just right for unwinding, with everything you need without any fuss. First impressions? Spot on – we dumped the bags, cracked open a couple of tins, and just soaked in the peace.

But the real magic of the trip? Getting properly lost and stumbling on these hidden gems that no guidebook bangs on about. We weren’t fussed about the usual spots; instead, we let our feet – and a bit of Cornish fog – do the leading. First wander out, we took a wrong turn down a barely-there path from the cottage, ending up at this tiny cove you’d miss unless you were half-blind. Waves crashing gently, seals popping up like cheeky locals saying hello. No crowds, just us and the sea, picking our way over the rocks for a impromptu picnic of pasties from the village bakery. Bliss.

Next day, aiming for a stroll along the coast path, we veered off into the woods by mistake – thick with gnarly trees and birdsong. Emerged at an old smuggling inlet, the sort of place where you half-expect to find a pirate’s stash. Sat there with flasks of tea, watching fishing boats bob about, feeling like we’d nicked a secret from the locals. I had one of those quiet moments then, you know? Staring out, thinking how daft it is we’re always rushing about back home, when proper joy’s in these accidental detours.

Even a rainy afternoon led to gold – lost in the back lanes, we found this tucked-away harbour café in Porthleven itself, run by a gruff fisherman type who served the freshest crab sandwiches going. Chatted away about his catches, proper yarns that made the day. And that evening, another meander took us to a forgotten beach just a stone’s throw from the cottage, where the tide pools were alive with starfish and anemones. We poked about like kids, giggling at the cold water splashing our wellies.

Honestly, that’s the joy of it – ditching the map and letting Porthleven’s rabbit warren of paths work their charm. Left feeling recharged, with a daft grin and a pocketful of shells. If you’re after a holiday where the best bits find you, get yourself lost here. You won’t regret it.