I’ll never forget the drive down to Somerset – we’d packed the car to the brim with wellies, board games and enough snacks to feed a small army, only for the sat-nav to chuck us into a cheeky detour through some flooded lanes on the Levels. Mud splattered up the windows, the kids in the back yelling about pirates attacking the ship, and me pretending I wasn’t panicking about getting stuck. But honestly, that little mishap just ramped up the anticipation – by the time we crested the hill and spotted our holiday apartment nestled in Wedmore, I was grinning like an idiot. First impressions? Spot on. It’s this cosy, modern two-bedroom spot with a welcoming vibe, all clean lines and comfy corners, perfect for a family like ours who thrive on a bit of organised chaos.

We’d chosen it for its dead-central spot, just two miles from Wedmore village with its cracking little delicatessen and a couple of pubs doing proper roasts. Unpacked in no time, kettle on for a brew, and we were out exploring before the sun had properly set. The Somerset Levels stretched out like a patchwork quilt, misty and magical, and with all those walks and cycle paths right on the doorstep, we wasted no time. First morning, we hired bikes from the village and pedalled along the flat tracks, stopping to watch herons fishing in the rhines. The kids thought it was brilliant – muddy puddles to splash through, and not a screen in sight. Lunch was pasties from the deli, eaten picnic-style by a bird hide, spotting coots and the odd kingfisher dart. Ham Wall’s only eight miles off, mind, but we saved that for later; these local loops were plenty for our gentle potterings.

Afternoons blurred into that lovely cottage-life rhythm – chaotic breakfasts with toast everywhere, then lazy wanders up towards the Mendip Hills edge. Wedmore’s got this unhurried charm; we popped into the shops for local cheeses and fudge, the sort of treats that make you forget about emails piling up back home. One evening, we ambled over to Wells, barely a ten-minute drive, and gawped at the cathedral’s wonky towers – the kids were mesmerised by the clock striking the hour, while I snuck a mooch around the market stalls for some vintage postcards. Burnham-on-Sea’s beaches called next day, golden sands and donkey rides, with fish and chips wrapped in paper that tasted of proper holidays. Cheddar Gorge loomed temptingly close too, but we kept it simple: a family climb up the cliffs, ice creams melting down our hands, laughing at my rubbish map-reading.

There was this one moment, sitting on the apartment’s patio with a cuppa as the sun dipped, kids finally knackered and building Lego towers inside, when I had a proper think. Life’s mad rush at home – school runs, deadlines – it all felt miles away. Here, it was just us, mud on the boots and stories to tell. Sure, there was the odd sibling squabble over the remote, but that’s the joy of it, isn’t it? Simple pleasures like baking scones with clotted cream from the farm shop, or cycle rides that end in giggles and grass stains. No grand plans, just family time in Somerset’s gentle embrace. We didn’t need Glastonbury Tor or posher spots; this relaxed break hit the spot perfectly. Already plotting a return – next time, I’m packing spare socks.