I’ll never forget the drive down to Shrewsbury – me at the wheel, my wife Sarah navigating with that sat-nav app that promised “traffic-free bliss.” Yeah, right. About 20 miles out, we hit a proper snarl-up on the A5, courtesy of some cheeky roadworks and a lorry that decided to have a nap in the middle lane. We were bickering over whether to take the scenic detour through Telford or stick it out, but in the end, it turned into one of those laughs-you’ll-remember-forever moments. By the time we rolled into town, the anticipation was bubbling – visions of riverside strolls and a hot soak after the drive.

Pulling up to our double-fronted terraced cottage on Marine Terrace, right in the heart of Shrewsbury overlooking the River Severn, we were gobsmacked. It’s this cracking three-storey gem, all stylish luxury with a cheeky nod to its old charm – think sash windows and those non-working fireplaces in the bedrooms that make you feel like you’ve stepped into a period drama. The views straight across to the English Bridge had us grinning like kids; first impressions? Spot on. We dumped the bags and fired up the surround sound speakers with some chill indie tunes, cracking open a bottle of fizz to celebrate.

The next few days were pure relaxed couple bliss, the kind of holiday where you embrace the gentle chaos of cottage life. Mornings kicked off with lazy brews on the balcony, watching rowers glide past on the Severn and steam trains chuffing over the bridge – it’s hypnotic, that is. We’d wander hand-in-hand into town, just a stone’s throw away, nipping into the covered market for fresh Shropshire cheese and proper pork pies from the butchers. Lunch was always a faff – debating between the quirky cafes on Wyle Cop or a riverside picnic that nearly ended in soggy sandwiches when a cheeky gust off the water scattered our crisps. Laughable, really; us proper townies pretending we’re countryside pros.

Afternoons melted into hot tub sessions, bubbles fizzing as we sipped gin and tonics, gossiping about nothing much. One evening, we ambled over to Quarry park – that massive green lung right by the river – for a gentle meander around the daffodil beds and a splash in the boating lake. Sarah dragged me on the Dingle’s winding paths, past the Italianate gardens, and we collapsed on a bench, watching families feed the ducks. Simple pleasures, innit? No grand plans, just soaking it in.

There was this quiet moment of self-reflection one night, feet up by the bedroom fireplace (fake flames flickering away), when I realised how rare it is to properly switch off. Work stress? Vanished. Kids at home with the in-laws? Grateful for the breather. It’s funny – we’d booked thinking luxury hot tub and speakers would be the draw, but it was the little things, the river’s murmur and Shrewsbury’s medieval hum, that hooked us. A bit of chaos with the traffic aside, this was our perfect reset. If you’re after that cosy couple escape, hunt down a spot like this – you won’t regret it.