I’ll never forget the drive down to Somerset – we’d packed the car to the brim with kids’ snacks, wellies, and enough board games to survive a siege, only for the sat-nav to chuck us into some dodgy farm track just outside Somerton. Mud everywhere, the car groaning like it was auditioning for a tractor role, and me panicking that we’d end up sleeping in a hedge. But honestly, once we extricated ourselves with a bit of reversing and a lot of laughter, the anticipation kicked in proper. Twisty lanes lined with hedgerows, the promise of proper countryside air – it felt like we were heading into one of those Enid Blyton books I used to love.

Pulling up to this cracking first-floor apartment tucked into the grounds of a 17th-century thatched cottage in Charlton Mackrell was a right treat. It’s in a conservation area, all quaint and villagey, with views over the owner’s lush gardens and a sleepy little lane. From the off, the first impressions were spot on – stylishly done, architect-designed with sloping eaves that give it bags of character, but plenty of headroom even for my lanky frame. We hauled the bags up the stairs, kids whooping, and stepped into this super well-equipped kitchen with a breakfast bar begging for morning toast sessions. The sitting and dining spots were imaginatively laid out, plush bedroom with a king-size bed that swallowed us whole, and a shower that could’ve powered a rocket. Everything you need for self-catering, thoughtfully kitted out – I felt like we’d won the holiday lottery.

We settled into that relaxed family break vibe straight away, the kind where chaos meets bliss. First morning, I’m faffing about making brekkie at the bar while the little ones raid the cupboards for cereal – total cottage life pandemonium, but the heartwarming sort. We wandered down to the village green, just a stone’s throw, where locals were pottering about and the pub was already smelling of fresh pasties. Picked up some local cheddar and cider from the farm shop nearby – nothing fancy, just simple pleasures like scoffing it on the balcony with those garden views, watching butterflies flit about.

Afternoons were for gentle ambles along the lanes to Ilchester, no more than a couple of miles, stopping to poke at wildflowers or let the kids chase sheep (from a safe distance, mind). One evening, we tried our hand at a picnic by the River Cary – packed sandwiches from the kitchen, but the heavens opened, sending us scarpering back giggling and soggy. Proper British summer, that. And the evenings? Cosy nights in with the telly, feet up in the sitting area, kids knackered from fresh air romps.

Looking back, it got me reflecting – in the rush of daily life, we forget how these unhurried spots recharge the batteries. No grand plans, just family muddles and quiet joys. That sloping-ceilinged haven gave us the perfect bubble for it all. If you’re after a laid-back Somerset escape, this is the ticket – we’re already plotting a return.