I’ll never forget the drive to Kington – that cheeky little mishap right at the start when my sat-nav decided to throw a wobbly and sent us looping down a single-track lane that seemed to lead absolutely nowhere. We were coming from the M50, full of that fizzy anticipation you get before a proper getaway, imagining cosy evenings and countryside wanders, when suddenly we’re inching past hedgerows with brambles snagging the wing mirrors. A quick U-turn (with a bit of good-natured bickering) and we were back on track, laughing about how these things always happen when you’re desperate for a cuppa.

Pulling up to the place, though, it was love at first sight. Tucked in this gorgeous Victorian schoolhouse from the 1830s, the studio flat felt like stepping into a romantic hideaway made for two. Lofty ceilings, elegant antique bits and bobs mixed with all the mod cons, and those massive picture windows flooding the open-plan space with light and cracking views over Bradnor Hill. We dumped the bags, cracked open a bottle of local cider, and plonked down at the quaint wooden dining table to plot our stay – no grand plans, just pottering about.

What turned this trip into pure magic was stumbling on Herefordshire’s hidden gems purely by accident. We’d meant to head straight for Kington’s high street, but after a wrong turn (sat-nav still sulking), we ended up on a winding path to the River Arrow. Tucked away there, behind a cluster of ancient oaks, was this secret picnic spot – wildflowers everywhere, the water gurgling like it was chatting to itself. We rustled up cheese sarnies in the kitchenette and had the whole bank to ourselves. Pure bliss, and not a soul in sight.

Next day, fancying a leg-stretch, we got properly lost on the back lanes towards the Offa’s Dyke path. Instead of the main trail, we veered onto a barely marked footpath that spat us out at a forgotten hill fort up on Hergest Ridge. No crowds, just panoramic views rolling out to the Welsh border, with skylarks doing their thing overhead. We sat there munching flapjacks, wind in our hair, feeling like we’d nicked a bit of ancient magic. I had one of those quiet moments, you know? Staring out, I realised how often I rush through life’s sat-nav routes – getting lost like this, properly unplugged, reminds you there’s joy in the detours.

Wandering back, we chanced on a tucked-away tearoom in a converted barn just outside the village – think steaming scones with clotted cream and gossip from the locals about nearby foraging spots. Later, a meander led to a hidden grove by a bubbling brook, perfect for reading and dozing. No tourist traps, just these off-the-beaten-track treasures that made the schoolhouse feel even more like our secret bolthole.

Heading home, I was already plotting the next ‘lost’ adventure. Herefordshire’s got this knack for rewarding the wanderers – if you let the lanes lead you, the best bits find you.