I’ll never forget the drive down to Somerset last month – me behind the wheel of our trusty old hatchback, sat-nav chirping away like it owned the road, and then bam, we hit a rogue flock of sheep blocking the lane just outside Minehead. Proper Exmoor chaos! I ended up reversing into a hedge while the farmer ambled over with a grin and a crook, waving us through. By the time we arrived, hearts still thumping a bit, I was buzzing with that mix of relief and excitement – you know, that feeling when you’re finally nearly there after a faff-filled journey?

Pulling up to this cracking little ground-floor apartment in a semi-detached holiday home, tucked away in a peaceful rural spot on the edge of Exmoor National Park and the Quantocks, it was love at first sight. The place just oozed charm – cosy for two, with its own bedroom and shower room, and that garden! Oh, the garden. We stepped out, bags barely dropped, and there it was: a lush, private haven with birdsong and butterflies flitting about, the hills rolling gently in the distance. First impressions? Spot on. It felt like the world had hit pause, and we were the lucky ones invited to linger.

We’d planned this getaway with one mission: do bugger all. And boy, did we nail it. Mornings started slow – a potter in the kitchen for tea and toast, then straight out to the garden with books in hand. I’d sink into one of those comfy chairs under the trees, cider in the afternoon sun (local stuff from just down the road, naturally), and lose myself in a proper page-turner. My other half would stretch out on the grass with her sketchpad, doodling wildflowers or whatever caught her eye. No rush, no schedules – just the hum of bees and the odd pheasant strutting past like it owned the place.

One lazy afternoon, I caught myself staring at a ladybird crawling along the armrest, mesmerised. Made me chuckle – here I was, a city lad who usually can’t sit still for five minutes, and I’d happily watch paint dry if it was in this garden. It was that gentle nudge, you see: slowing down isn’t just nice, it’s essential. We’d wander the garden paths, picking a few herbs for supper, or nap in the hammock swinging between the apple trees. Evenings? Cosy dinners at the little table outside if the weather held – think fresh scones nabbed from the village shop in Monksilver, slathered in clotted cream, with a bottle of Somerset sparkling chilling nearby.

A quick amble up the lane took us to footpaths into the Quantocks – nothing strenuous, just enough to stretch the legs and breathe in that crisp air, spotting deer or rabbits before heading back for more lounging. No grand adventures, no ticking off lists. Just pure, unadulterated bliss of being. By the time we packed up, I felt recharged, lighter somehow. If you’re after a spot to truly unwind, this neck of Somerset’s got the lot – especially when it’s all about those deliciously lazy cottage days. Can’t wait to go back.