I’ll never forget the drive down from Cork Airport – we’d hired this little automatic car that promised to make life easy, but halfway there, I took a wrong turn onto some narrow lane that looked promising on the sat-nav. Next thing, we’re stuck behind a herd of cows ambling along like they owned the road, and the rain’s bucketing down. Typical Irish welcome, I thought, laughing as we waited for the farmer to wave us through. But by the time we wound our way to Ballinglanna, just shy of Clonakilty, the clouds parted, and there it was: this charming single-storey bungalow hugging the coast, all cosy and welcoming with its open-plan living space spilling out to sea views. First impressions? Spot on – modern kitchen kitted out with everything from a double oven to a coffee maker (lifesaver for us caffeine fiends), and four bedrooms that slept our lot perfectly, from the king-size master with en-suite to the twins for the kids.

We hadn’t planned much beyond chilling at the place, but that’s when the real magic kicked in – getting properly lost in the best way. First morning, I fancied a wander and veered off the main path towards the cliffs, ending up at this hidden cove you’d never spot on a map. Tucked away below Ballinglanna, it was just us, seals barking offshore, and waves crashing on pebbles. No crowds, no signs – pure fluke. Felt like we’d stumbled into our own secret Ireland.

Later that week, the family piled into the car for what was meant to be a quick spin to Clonakilty’s beaches, but I missed the turn (again) and we barrelled down a single-track road lined with fuchsias. It spat us out at a wildflower meadow by the water – not Inchydoney or anything touristy, but a proper off-the-beaten-track gem with dunes you could roll down without seeing another soul. We picnicked there with sarnies from the bungalow’s stocked fridge, kids building epic sandcastles while I snuck a nap in the dunes. Hilarious moment when a cheeky fox darted out, snagged a crisp packet, and vanished – nature’s binman, we called it.

Evenings were for more accidental adventures. One dusk, following a hunch along the coastal path from the bungalow, we found this tiny harbour hidden in a dip, where local lads were mending lobster pots and sharing yarns about storms past. No gift shops, just fresh fish tales and the smell of turf smoke. We bought crab claws straight off the boat – cooked them up in that brilliant kitchen, with the electric fire crackling in the sitting area. Simple heaven.

Looking back, it’s funny how the best holidays come from ditching the itinerary. I’m usually a planner, fretting over every detail, but getting lost around here taught me to loosen up. Those hidden spots – the cove, the meadow, the harbour – they’re what made the trip unforgettable, far better than any guidebook tick-list. If you’re heading to County Cork, ditch the map and let the lanes lead you. You won’t regret it.