I’ll never forget the drive down to Somerset – we’d packed the car to the brim with snacks, books, and enough board games to last a siege, but about halfway there, just past Yeovil, the sat-nav decided to throw a wobbly and sent us on a merry detour through some narrow lanes that felt more like tractor tracks. Cue mild panic, a few wrong turns, and me muttering about why we didn’t just stick to the A303. Still, by the time we rolled into Wincanton, the sun was dipping low, and my heart lifted at the sight of those classic market-town rooftops. We were buzzing with that arrival anticipation, you know? Wondering what awaited us in this grand period home we’d booked – the one from that Channel 4 show, Sarah Beeny’s New Country Lives. As it turned out, first impressions? Spot on. Stepping through the front door felt like being hugged by a stylish mate – elegant yet dead cosy, blending proper comfort with quirky gems like a Japanese sunken bath and a woodburning stove that promised evenings of pure bliss.

Nestled right in the heart of Wincanton, it was brilliant to have cafés, pubs, and those lovely independent shops just a short stroll away, but honestly, we barely budged. The whole point of this holiday was doing very little, and this place was made for it. Large enough for our group of mates and kids without feeling echoey, it was the perfect setup for lazy cottage days. We’d flop into the garden first thing – it’s this lush, private haven with loungers begging you to stretch out. Mornings blurred into me nursing a coffee, feet up, watching bees hum around the flowers while the kids chased each other half-heartedly before giving up and joining in the lounging. No grand plans, just that slow unspooling of tension from real life.

Inside, the games room became our lazy afternoon HQ. A few rounds of Jenga or cards, punctuated by raucous laughter when someone inevitably toppled the tower – light-hearted fails that had us in stitches. Evenings? Crackling fire in the woodburner, everyone curled up with books or dozing off mid-chapter. I devoured a battered paperback I’d been meaning to read for months, sinking into that sunken bath afterwards with bubbles up to my chin, feeling like a prune in the best possible way. No rushing about – just time stretching out, conversations meandering from work woes to daft what-ifs.

Reflecting on it now, I realise how rare that slowness is. Back home, I’m always chasing the next thing, but here in Somerset’s gentle embrace, doing sod all felt revolutionary. A mate joked I’d turned into a slug, and fair play – happiest slug alive. Wincanton’s buzz was there if we fancied a pub pint or pasty from the bakery, but mostly we savoured the joy of switching off. If you’re after a proper unwind, this is it – pure, unhurried magic. Can’t wait to go back.