I’ll never forget the drive to our little holiday in Shropshire – we’d packed the car to the roof with cool bags bulging with veg from the garden, dreaming of lazy farm-fresh suppers, when the sat-nav decided to have a midlife crisis just past Shrewsbury. It kept rerouting us down what felt like every farm track in north Shropshire, turning a straightforward hour into a comedy of errors. By the time we trundled up to this peaceful single-storey cottage on a working farm just outside Selattyn, I was starving and slightly frazzled, but honestly, the sight of it melted all that away. Nestled in that tranquil spot, it looked like the perfect bolthole for us lot – three bedrooms for our family of six, stylish without being fussy, and with views over the hills that made you want to crack open a bottle straight away.

First impressions? Spot on. We arrived buzzing with anticipation for proper home-cooked feasts after months of takeaways, and the cottage delivered. The kitchen was a dream – big farmhouse table, decent oven, and we’d brought our own knives because, let’s face it, I’m a bit of a faffer in the kitchen. That first evening, we unloaded our haul: plump tomatoes, new potatoes, and a shoulder of lamb I’d marinated overnight. I attempted a roast, channelling my inner Nigella, but let’s just say the spuds were more charcoal than crisp. Still, slathered in gravy from the farm’s own apple juice (they leave a welcome basket with local bits), it was glorious. Sat round that table as the sun dipped over Selattyn Hills, laughing about my culinary near-miss – pure bliss.

Next morning, we wandered into Oswestry’s market, just a short drive away. What a gem! Stalls groaning under Shropshire produce – artisan cheeses that could make you weep, fresh pork pies still warm from the baker, and the biggest, juiciest strawberries I’ve ever scoffed. We loaded up on bacon from a proper butcher and some elderflower cordial that tasted like summer in a bottle. Back at the cottage, lunch was a heroic ploughman’s: hunks of that cheese, crusty bread, and pickle so sharp it woke us right up. Afternoon? A gentle stroll to the peaceful trails at Selattyn Hills, but really, it was all about plotting dinner. I tried my hand at a Shropshire fidget pie – you know, that pastry-wrapped marvel of beef, potato, and onion. Mine didn’t quite hold together (note to self: less enthusiasm, more patience with pastry), but with a side of wilted greens from the garden plot nearby, it hit the spot.

Evenings called for the pub. The one in Selattyn’s a cracker – cosy, with locals who chat like old mates, and their Sunday roast is legendary: melt-in-the-mouth beef, Yorkshire puds like clouds, and veg from within spitting distance. One night, we ambled over to Gobowen for fish and chips that were proper – batter crisp as a fresh banknote, wrapped in yesterday’s news. Paired with a pint of something hoppy from a Shropshire brewery, it was the perfect wind-down after poking around Oswestry Hillfort’s views (great picnic spot, by the way, with our packed sausage rolls).

Looking back, that week was a gentle nudge to slow down and savour the simple stuff – like not burning the dinner every time. No grand hikes needed when the real adventure was in the eating, the markets, and those shared meals that stick with you longer than any view. If you’re after a spot to unplug and feast on the good life, this Shropshire farm cottage is it. We’re already plotting a return.