I’ll never forget the drive down to Somerset – we’d piled into the car from Bristol with high hopes for a proper getaway, but about halfway there, I took a wrong turn onto some winding back lane near Bridgwater. Sat nav went haywire, and suddenly we were bumping along what felt like a sheep track, with the dog whining in the boot. A classic me moment, getting us lost before we’d even arrived. But honestly, that little mishap set the tone – it turned out to be the perfect intro to discovering Somerset’s hidden corners.

Pulling up to this cracking single-storey cottage in the sleepy village of North Petherton, I was buzzing with anticipation. We’d booked it for its peaceful spot near the Quantock Hills, and from the off, it didn’t disappoint. Stepping inside, the open-plan living space hit you like a warm hug – spacious, inviting, with a kitchen stocked for whipping up family feasts. The sun-soaked garden out back sealed it, complete with a bubbling hot tub that had us grinning like kids. Ground floor throughout, it was spot-on for us lot, pets included, and that social hub vibe made it feel like home straight away.

The real magic, though, kicked off when we decided to properly explore – no maps, just following our noses and letting the lanes lead us astray. First afternoon, we wandered off towards the Quantocks, aiming for a vague viewpoint but ending up on a tucked-away footpath that snaked through brambly hedges. Stumbled across this secret dell by accident – a wildflower meadow with a babbling brook, not a soul in sight. We picnicked there for hours, the dog splashing about, while distant hills rolled out like a painting. Proper off-the-beaten-track stuff you’d never find on the tourist trails.

Next day, another “lost” jaunt took us looping through North Petherton’s quiet hamlets. Veered off down a no-through-road and bingo – a forgotten village green with a wonky old cricket pavilion and a pub that looked like it hadn’t changed since the war. The landlord there, proper local character, pulled us pints and pointed out a hidden woodland trail nearby, alive with butterflies and birdsong. We hiked it at dusk, getting gloriously muddled in the twists, emerging at a viewpoint over the Somerset levels that felt like our private discovery. Laughing about how we’d probably circled the same field twice.

Evenings were for melting into the hot tub, glass of Somerset cider in hand (picked up from a farm shop we nearly missed), reflecting on how daft it is that we city folk rush everywhere. Getting lost like that forced us to slow down, chat properly, and uncover these gems – the kind of spots that make you feel like you’ve nicked a bit of paradise. By the end of the week, we’d mapped our own mental guide to the area’s secret nooks, all within a stone’s throw. If you’re after a holiday that’s more wander than plan, this neck of the woods delivers. We’re already plotting a return – sat nav be dashed.