I’ll never forget the drive down to Bridgnorth – we’d packed the car with enough cheese, crackers, and wine to see us through a siege, only for the sat-nav to chuck us into a cheeky detour through some narrow lanes that had me white-knuckling the wheel. “This better be worth it,” I muttered to Sarah as we crawled past a field of bemused cows. But honestly, that little mishap just built the anticipation; by the time we crested the hill and spotted the River Severn glinting below, we were buzzing like kids on Christmas Eve.

Pulling up to our semi-detached end-terrace cottage, right on the riverside in the heart of this proper market town, it was love at first sight. Tucked just a stone’s throw from the pubs and shops, it screamed cosy riverside retreat without any pretension. Three floors of pure bliss unfolded before us: downstairs, a welcoming living-dining room with a table for four and that charming woodburning stove begging for a lazy evening fire. The contemporary kitchen had all the bits for knocking up a slap-up breakfast, and upstairs, the king-size bedroom overlooked the calm river waters – perfect for drifting off to the gentle lap of the tide. The sleek shower room on the same floor meant no queuing for the loo, which is a win when you’re a couple trying to keep things relaxed.

We wasted no time settling in. First morning, we wandered five minutes to the high street for fresh pasties from the bakery, then ambled along the river path, watching narrowboats chug by and herons doing their awkward fishing dance. It was one of those simple pleasures that hits different on holiday – no rush, just us, the water, and a thermos of tea. Afternoons blurred into gentle chaos: I’d faff about lighting the stove (pro tip: don’t buy cheap kindling), while Sarah rustled up pasta in the kitchen, spilling flour everywhere and laughing about it. We’d flop on the sofa with a bottle of red, planning nothing but maybe a pint at the local, The Lion, where the barman knew everyone’s name and the beer was crisp as a Shropshire autumn.

One evening, we climbed the 200-odd steps up to the cliff-top for those epic town views – heart-pounding but worth every gasp. Back down, we’d cozy up by the fire, playing cards and reminiscing about past holidays that weren’t half as chilled. There was this gentle moment of self-reflection as the flames flickered: holidays like this remind you that the best bits aren’t grand adventures, but the quiet ones – the shared giggles over burnt toast, the river’s whisper lulling you to sleep. We did pop to nearby Daniels Mill for a mooch around the old waterwheel and tearoom, sipping cake with the grandkids in mind for next time, but mostly it was us two, embracing cottage life’s sweet disorder.

Bridgnorth and this little riverside haven nailed the relaxed family-couple break we craved. No frills, just proper unwinding. We’re already plotting a return – sat-nav glitches and all.