I’ll never forget the drive down to Minehead last month – me behind the wheel, sat-nav chirping away, and the dog, Monty, snoring in the back like he owned the place. We’d left Bristol early, full of that buzzy anticipation you get before a proper getaway, dreaming of coastal walks and cream teas. But halfway through the Quantocks, disaster struck: a rogue sheep decided to play chicken with the car, forcing me into an emergency swerve that sent my thermos of tea flying all over the dashboard. Soggy maps and a lot of swearing under my breath later (well, muttering, anyway), we arrived a tad frazzled but buzzing to see our first-floor apartment perched in this cracking spot near Exmoor.

First impressions? Blimey, they didn’t disappoint. Up the internal staircase, and there it was – this cosy home-from-home with a thoughtfully decked-out kitchen that screamed “whip up a feast”. Off-road parking for the car was a godsend after that sheep saga, and those sea views from the intimate dining table? Pure magic. We cracked open a bottle of wine that first evening, rustled up pasta, and just gawped at the Somerset coast twinkling away. Monty approved too, tail wagging like a metronome as he claimed his spot by the window.

What turned this trip into gold, though, wasn’t the obvious tourist traps – nah, it was the hidden gems we stumbled on by pure accident, especially when we embraced getting properly lost. Day two, we parked up and wandered off the beaten path towards the edge of Exmoor, no map, just Monty leading the way. Ended up discovering this tucked-away cove at the base of those dramatic cliffs – Dunster Beach, but way off the main drag, where the sand’s all rippled and empty save for a few seals bobbing about. We picnicked there with cheese sarnies from the kitchen, waves lapping, feeling like we’d gatecrashed paradise.

Then there was the time we took a “shortcut” along the coastal path from Blue Anchor Bay – or so Google Maps insisted. Lost signal, paths petering out into brambly nothing, and suddenly we’re in this secret valley with wild ponies grazing and nothing but birdsong. Turned out to be a forgotten corner near Porlock Weir, complete with a babbling brook perfect for paddling. Monty went feral chasing sticks, and I had one of those gentle “aha” moments: why do we always chase the crowds when getting lost like this uncovers the real magic? Laughed at myself for being such a planner back home – here, the best bits were the unplanned ones.

Even closer to base, a wrong turn down a narrow lane spat us out at this wee harbour nook, hidden from the main road, where local fishermen were mending nets and sharing yarns over pasties. We grabbed crab sandwiches that tasted of the sea itself and watched the light dance on the water. No Instagram hordes, just us, the dog, and that effortless Somerset vibe.

By the end of the week, we’d mapped our own mental treasure trove of these off-piste spots – all within a stone’s throw, all the better for the wandering. Packing up felt bittersweet, but with sea views etched in my mind and Monty knackered from adventures, I drove off grinning. Next time, I’m ditching the sat-nav entirely.