I’ll never forget the drive down to Herefordshire last month – we’d packed the car with enough crisps and thermos flasks to see us through a siege, only for the sat-nav to chuck a wobbly just as we hit the A465. It rerouted us through some winding lanes that felt more like sheep tracks, and I ended up reversing into a hedge after mistaking a passing tractor for a clear road. A proper comedy of errors, but by the time we crested the hill into the Golden Valley, all was forgiven. The views unfolding below – those rolling green hills and the distant wink of the Wye Valley – had us grinning like idiots. This was going to be spot on.

Pulling up to the cottage on the east side of the valley, my heart did a little flip of anticipation. It’s one of those classic, cosy places with a welcoming vibe, all low doorways and flower-filled windowsills, plonked right where the walks start from the doorstep. First impressions? Magic. We tumbled out, bags in hand, and just stood there breathing it all in – the air crisp and country-fresh, birds cheeping away as if they’d been waiting for us.

But honestly, the joy of the whole trip was doing sod all. After months of rushing about, this was my chance to switch off proper. We’d flop into the garden first thing, mugs of tea steaming in the morning mist, watching the world wake up without a care. The garden’s a beaut – wildish at the edges with buzzing bees, a couple of sun-trap benches, and enough space to stretch out with a book without feeling hemmed in. I’d lose hours there, nose in a battered paperback, only stirring for a biscuit or to eavesdrop on the sheep bleating over the fence. Lazy lunches of local cheese and bread from Hay-on-Wye’s Thursday market (a quick five-minute drive away), eaten al fresco while the sun warmed our faces.

Afternoons blurred into dozy heaven. A gentle potter up Merbach Hill maybe, just far enough for a leg-stretch and a sit-down with thermos in hand, overlooking the valley. Or nothing at all – just hammock-swinging, dozing to the hum of insects. No schedules, no screens pinging. One evening, as the sun dipped behind Little Mountain, I caught myself staring at a ladybird on my knee, pondering how I’d let life rev too fast lately. Needed this, I thought – a nudge to slow down, savour the quiet. We skipped the pony trekking and canoe larks nearby; who needs adrenaline when you’ve got peace like this?

Evenings were for wood-burner glow and simple suppers, maybe a wander into Hay for a pint at a pub buzzing with festival chatter (that May Hay Festival energy lingers all year). Back at the cottage, stargazing from the garden felt like the universe had turned down the lights just for us. By the end of the week, we were rested right through – no itch to fill every minute. Herefordshire’s got adventures aplenty, but for me, this was paradise in pressing pause. If you’re after recharging, hunt out a spot like this. You won’t regret it.