I’ll never forget the drive down to West Pennard last month – sat nav insisted on the scenic route through some winding lanes near Glastonbury, and wouldn’t you know it, I took a wrong turn right at the start. Ended up bumping along a muddy farm track, convinced we’d end up in a cow field, with my mate Dave in the passenger seat laughing his head off. “This is your Somerset adventure already,” he quipped. But we shook it off, and as we finally pulled up, the place looked an absolute picture – this cosy first-floor flat in a charming old period property, right in the heart of the village, with off-road parking that felt like a godsend after our detour. The pub just down the road winked at us invitingly, and I could already picture lazy pints later. First impressions? Spot on – it promised that perfect mix of convenience and escape.

We’d come for a few days’ unwind with the family, but Somerset’s magic is in those hidden corners you stumble on when you let yourself get properly lost. No grand plans, just wander off the main drags near Pilton and see what happens. First morning, after a fry-up in the well-equipped kitchen-diner (proper coffee machine, thank goodness), we headed out on foot, no map, just vibes. A cheeky left instead of right down a hedge-lined path led us to this tucked-away pond we’d never have found otherwise. Ducks paddling about, wildflowers everywhere, and not a soul in sight. Sat there with a thermos, feeling like we’d nicked a secret from the locals. Dave called it our “accidental nature reserve” – pure bliss, especially after I’d spent the week before glued to my desk back home.

Next day, we piled into the car for a gentle meander towards the Tor – but again, took a detour through some unmarked lanes around West Pennard. Bloody marvellous, it turned out. Stumbled on a wee orchard path that spat us out at an old cider press hidden behind a copse, the kind of spot ramblers miss because it’s not signposted. Picked a few windfalls (honest, they were begging to be taken), and later turned them into crumble back in the flat’s cosy sitting room. That’s the joy of it, isn’t it? These off-the-beaten-track gems that reward your daft navigation skills. We even found a forgotten village green with a single bench overlooking sheep-dotted fields – perfect for a picnic, kids charging about like it was their private playground.

One evening, after propping up the pub bar with locals who spun yarns about Glastonbury’s quirky history, we got lost again on the way back. A footpath we swore wasn’t there before looped us past a babbling brook and a wildflower meadow buzzing with bees. Collapsed laughing on the sofa afterwards, feet up, reflecting on how I’ve always been a planner, checklists and all. But getting lost here? It’s the best reset button. Somerset’s like that – draws you into its quiet secrets if you just let the road (or path) lead.

By the time we packed up, hearts full and wellies muddy, I knew we’d be back. Those accidental discoveries made the whole trip – proof that the best holidays are the ones where you don’t know what’s round the corner.