I’ll never forget the drive to our little holiday spot on Clee Hill Common – we’d been buzzing with excitement about escaping the daily grind for a proper family break, but of course, things didn’t go entirely to plan. Halfway there, with the kids chattering in the back about what treats awaited, the sat-nav decided to throw a wobbly and sent us down a narrow lane that was more mud track than road. We ended up with the car’s underbelly scraping a puddle the size of a small pond, and me laughing nervously while my other half muttered about “recalculating.” Still, we arrived in one piece, just as the late afternoon sun was dipping over the hills, and oh my word, those first impressions? Pure magic.

Pulling up to this cosy first-floor self-catering apartment right next to the owners’ place, I felt that proper “ahh” moment. Nestled on the edge of the common in this Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty, it’s got these cracking views stretching out to the Malvern Hills and the patchwork countryside below. It’s the sort of spot perfect for us – just me, the missus, and our two little ones – with comfy open-plan living that feels like a warm hug after the road chaos. We dumped the bags, cracked open a brew, and just stared out the window, already plotting lazy days ahead.

The next morning, we laced up our boots for a wander across Clee Hill Common itself. It’s right on the doorstep, wild and windswept, with heather and gorse everywhere, and the kids went feral chasing butterflies and building twig forts. We spotted a buzzard circling overhead – proper birdwatching without even trying – and laughed as our youngest tried (and failed) to mimic its call. Lunch was a picnic of cheese rolls and crisps on a rug with those epic views; simple stuff, but it hit the spot after weeks of packed lunches at work.

Afternoons were for pottering. We cycled the gentle trails nearby, the little ones wobbling on their bikes while we pretended not to hover. One day, we even squeezed in a bit of fishing at a quiet local pond – nothing fancy, just worms and optimism, though the biggest catch was the chaos when a hook tangled in my sleeve. Evening strolls led to pony-spotting on the common (no riding for us, but the kids were obsessed), and we’d wind down with board games in the apartment, the windows flung open to the breeze.

A quick drive down to Ludlow – ten minutes tops – was our treat for market day. That medieval castle looms like something out of a storybook, and we mooched around the stalls, grabbing fresh pies and fudge while dodging the food festival buzz. The pubs were tempting, but we kept it family-style with ice creams and tales of our “adventures.”

Looking back, it was the cottage life chaos that made it – the spilled milk at breakfast, muddy wellies by the door, and those quiet moments gazing at the hills, reminding me how these simple pleasures recharge the soul. Shropshire’s got that unpretentious charm; we left feeling properly refreshed, already plotting a return. What a gem.