I’ll never forget the drive down to Somerset – we’d packed the car to the gills with wellies, board games, and enough crisps to siege a castle, only for the sat-nav to chuck us into a cheeky detour through some narrow lanes that had me white-knuckling the wheel. “Are we lost?” my wife asked, peering at the cows eyeing us suspiciously from the hedges. Turned out it was just a flock of sheep causing a traffic jam, but by the time we arrived, our anticipation was bubbling over like a kettle on the boil.

Pulling up to this Lantern and Larks site in the rolling Somerset hills, we were gobsmacked. Tucked away in unspoilt countryside, it’s got five luxury safari tents that scream proper glamping – think cosy beds, proper en-suites, and our very own wood-fired hot tub right outside. No concrete jungles here; just peace and quiet that hits you like a warm hug. We’d booked one for us, a couple in our forties craving a break from the daily grind, and it felt perfect from the off. Dumping the bags, we cracked open a bottle of local cider (picked up from a farm shop en route) and let the stress of city life melt away.

First morning, we wandered hand-in-hand down the gentle paths surrounding the site, breathing in that fresh country air laced with wildflowers. Somerset’s got this magic, doesn’t it? We spotted rabbits darting about and even a buzzard soaring overhead – proper David Attenborough stuff without the narration. Lunch was a simple picnic of cheese from a nearby dairy (Wellington’s got some cracking farm shops within spitting distance) and fresh bread, sprawled on a blanket with not a soul in sight. Bliss.

Evenings were the highlight, though. Firing up the wood-burner in the tent, we’d bubble in the hot tub as the sun dipped behind the hills, steam rising like we were in our own private spa. One night, we tried stargazing – or rather, I tried pointing out constellations while she laughed at my dodgy astronomy app failing spectacularly. “That’s Orion’s Belt?” she giggled. “Looks more like a wonky smiley face.” Cottage life chaos at its finest, but the kind that makes you chuckle rather than curse.

We ventured out a tad, ambling to the local pub in nearby Greenham for a ploughman’s and a pint of Exmoor Ale – hearty portions and chatty locals who made us feel right at home. Back at base, it was all about those simple pleasures: morning brews on the decking, lazy reads in the hammock, and impromptu dances to the radio when the fancy took us. No grand plans, just us, reconnecting amid the rural hum.

Reflecting on it now, as we trudged back to the car on departure day (muddy boots and all), I realised how rare it is to switch off properly. In our hectic world, this glamping gem reminded me that joy’s in the quiet bits – a shared laugh, a steaming soak, the simple thrill of no Wi-Fi nagging at you. If you’re after a relaxed family couple’s escape (or with mates, nab a few tents), Somerset’s hills are calling. We’re already plotting a return.