I’ll never forget the drive down to Weymouth – we’d set off from Bristol full of beans, sandwiches packed and the sat-nav chirping away happily. But about halfway, just past Dorchester, the thing decided to throw a wobbly and reroute us down some winding B-road that felt like it hadn’t seen tarmac since the war. We ended up in a muddy layby arguing over whose fault it was (mine, apparently), with the kids in the back moaning about needing the loo. Still, it added a bit of unplanned adventure, and by the time we trundled into Broadwey, I was buzzing with that proper holiday anticipation – you know, the kind where you imagine lazy beach days and cream teas without a care.

Pulling up to this newly built cottage from 2019, right in the heart of a working farm, it was love at first sight. Cosy and welcoming, with that fresh, lived-in feel, it sat snug amidst fields dotted with grazing sheep. From the garden, you could hear the farmer’s tractor chugging about, blending rural peace with the promise of Weymouth town just a quick hop away – beach, harbour, the lot. First impressions? Spot on. We dumped the bags, cracked open a bottle of fizz, and planned to head straight for the seafront. But holidays have a way of derailing the best-laid plans, don’t they? Ours took a gloriously wonky turn into hidden gems we’d never have found otherwise.

Day two, we thought we’d amble along the South West Coast Path for a structured walk. Fat chance. I took a ‘shortcut’ through some hedges (always the explorer, me), and suddenly we were lost in a tangle of brambly lanes behind the farm. Proper disoriented, but it spat us out at this tucked-away spot overlooking Radipole Lake – a nature reserve I’d never heard of. Ducks paddling about, herons stalking the reeds, and not a soul in sight. We picnicked on the bank, watching dragonflies dart over the water. Pure magic, the sort of off-the-beaten-track find that makes you feel like you’ve nicked a secret from the locals.

The next mishap was even better. Aiming for Weymouth’s Old Harbour – all that historic bustle and seafood shacks – we missed a turning and veered into Upwey village instead. What a fluke! There’s this ancient spring, St Catherine’s Chapel perched on the hill like a forgotten fairy-tale ruin, and a no-nonsense tea room serving the fluffiest scones this side of Devon. We spent the afternoon pottering about, clambering up for views over the valley, pretending we were time travellers. No crowds, just us and the wind whistling through the grass.

Our last detour sealed it. Trying to loop back via the beach, we got sidetracked by a farm track signposted ‘public footpath’. It led to a wildflower meadow fringed by the coast path, with butterflies everywhere and the sea peeking through. We sprawled out, dozed in the sun, and reflected on how getting lost had gifted us these quiet treasures – the ones guidebooks skip.

Looking back, that sat-nav faff was the best thing that happened. Weymouth’s got the big draws, sure, but it’s these accidental discoveries around Broadwey that stick with you. Proper holiday stuff. Can’t wait to go back and lose myself all over again.