I finally made it to Shipham after what felt like the longest drive from Bristol, thanks to a cheeky wrong turn near Winscombe that had me looping round those narrow lanes like a confused pigeon. Sat nav said 45 minutes, but with a bit of faffing and a quick stop for a pasty, it stretched to well over an hour. Still, as I pulled up to this delightful ground-floor apartment nestled in ten acres of Somerset countryside, all that irritation melted away. The anticipation had been building all week – visions of proper downtime – and the first glimpse didn't disappoint: enclosed landscaped garden glowing in the late afternoon sun, horses grazing nearby, and not a soul in sight. Proper job, I thought.

It's the sort of place that's been converted from an old stable, but inside it's all modern open-plan bliss – think cosy fire-ready living area, a wet room with a walk-in shower that's a godsend after a long day (or for anyone who appreciates not clambering over a bath), and a double bedroom kitted out with bedside tables and plenty of storage. No fuss, just welcoming. I dumped my bags, cracked open a window to let in that fresh country air, and that was it: holiday mode activated.

The joy of it all was doing bugger all, really. Somerset's got its charms – Cheddar Gorge is just a short hop if you're feeling energetic, or Axbridge for a mooch around the village shops – but I barely stirred beyond the garden. Mornings started slow: cuppa in hand, I'd flop into one of the garden chairs with a book I'd been meaning to read for months. The wildlife kept me company – rabbits hopping about, birds flitting in the hedges, and those horses ambling past like they owned the place. One afternoon, I swear a fox poked its nose over the fence, giving me a right stare before vanishing. Made me chuckle; proper David Attenborough moment without leaving my seat.

Lazing about like that, watching the clouds drift over the Mendips, felt like the ultimate treat. No schedules, no emails pinging – just the tick of the clock and the odd rustle in the bushes. Evenings were fire crackling, feet up, maybe a glass of local cider from the offy in Shipham. I did venture out once for a gentle stroll round the village, picking up some cheese from the farm shop, but mostly it was about slowing right down. Reflecting on it now, back in the grind, I realise how rare that is for me – always rushing, ticking boxes. Here, time stretched out lazy and golden, reminding me life's not a race. If you're after recharging without the hassle, this corner of Somerset's your spot. Can't wait to go back and do even less.