I’ll never forget the drive down to that barn conversion near Oswestry – we’d piled into the car from Manchester with high hopes, but halfway there, just past Shrewsbury, the sat-nav decided to throw a wobbly and sent us on a merry dance through some tiny lanes that hadn’t seen daylight since the war. We ended up at a dead end with a cow staring us down, and I swear it was smirking. A quick U-turn and a bit of map-scrolling later, we were back on track, laughing about it over cheese straws from the picnic bag. By the time we crested the hill into Llansilin, the anticipation was buzzing – those sweeping Shropshire hills unfolding like a proper postcard, and there it was, our luxurious rural bolt-hole, all characterful and contemporary in that effortless way.

First impressions? Spot on. It’s a five-star gem, reverse-level layout so the open-plan living space upstairs soaks up the views over the quiet countryside. Six en-suite bedrooms meant no squabbles for us lot – three super-kings (one the master with its own posh bathroom), a couple that zip and link however you fancy, twins that convert to kings, and a separate king too. Perfect for our family gathering, with space to sprawl without tripping over each other.

But honestly, the real joy was doing sod all. After that faff of a journey, we were primed to switch off, and this place delivered in spades. Mornings kicked off lazy: I’d potter out to the garden with a cuppa, sinking into a lounger as mist lifted off the fields. The kids (well, grown-ups now, but still) vanished into hammocks with books, while we adults claimed the patio table for endless pots of tea and flapjacks. No grand plans, just the simple thrill of slowing right down. Afternoons blurred into reading marathons – I demolished a battered copy of Middlemarch I’d been lugging around for years, chuckling at my own pretensions. “You’re turning into a proper country bumpkin,” my mate teased, and fair play, he wasn’t wrong. There was gentle self-reflection in those quiet moments, staring at the hills, realising how rare it is to just breathe without the ping of notifications or the rush of deadlines. It’s humbling, innit? Makes you grateful for the small stuff.

We’d wander the garden paths now and then, spotting butterflies or whatever passed for excitement, then flop back with a GandT as the sun dipped. Evenings were communal feasts – someone rustled up pasta, we cracked open wine, and swapped daft stories till yawns hit. No telly needed; the view was the entertainment. One day we did venture a mile or so for a pub lunch at the local in Llansilin – ploughman’s and a pint, proper Shropshire fare – but mostly, it was garden lounging and lazy chats. By the end of the week, we’d all shed the city haste like old skins. Packing up felt like leaving a dream, but what a tonic. If you’re after proper downtime in Shropshire’s embrace, this is your spot. Can’t wait to go back.