I’ll never forget the drive to our little holiday cottage near Glenbeigh – it was one of those journeys that starts off full of promise and ends in a comedy of errors. We’d piled into the car in Killarney, maps app blazing, with the kids chattering about seals and ice cream, and me behind the wheel feeling like a proper adventurer. The Ring of Kerry’s winding roads were as stunning as promised, those misty mountains hugging the sea, but then disaster struck about ten miles out. A sudden downpour turned the narrow lane into a river, and I misjudged a pothole – splash! We hydroplaned for what felt like ages, heart in my mouth, before grinding to a soggy halt on the verge. The kids thought it was hilarious, yelling “We’re surfing!” while I fumbled with the sat nav, which had decided to sulk and reroute us via some sheep-filled backroad. By the time we spotted the sign for Glenbeigh, we were all damp, slightly frazzled, and starving.

Pulling up to the cottage just 1.5 miles from the village, though, my spirits lifted like a rocket. There it was, this detached gem perched with a front-row seat over Dingle Bay, the waves crashing below under a sky finally breaking into patches of blue. I’d been buzzing with anticipation all week – visions of cosy evenings and epic drives – but the reality hit even better. We tumbled out, lugging bags and dodging a cheeky seagull eyeing our crisps, and stepped into this spacious haven perfect for our family of six (plus the odd mate crashing on the sofa bed). The open-plan living area swept us in straight away: a well-equipped kitchen begging for fry-up experiments, a dining spot for lazy breakfasts, and that sitting area – oh my word, the views from there are unreal. You plonk on the comfy sofas, fire crackling in the woodburner if the Irish weather turns cheeky, and bam, Dingle Bay stretches out like a private postcard.

First impressions? Pure magic, mishaps forgotten. We dumped the bags and raided the kitchen for tea – proper builder’s brew to steady the nerves – while the kids bolted to the bedrooms. Three of them, all bright and inviting, plus a family bathroom that meant no morning queues. That first evening, we just sat there gawping at the bay, seals popping up like nosy neighbours, the sun dipping low and painting everything gold. I had a quiet moment then, sipping my tea, thinking how daft I’d been stressing over work emails before we left. Here we were, cut off from the world in the best way, with the Ring of Kerry literally on our doorstep.

Next morning, we wandered into Glenbeigh village – a five-minute drive or a bracing cliff-top stroll – for fresh scones and gossip with the locals about the best spots. Rossbeigh Beach was calling, just down the road, all golden sands and dunes for kite-flying chaos. We even nipped to the nearby harbour to watch the fishing boats unload, the air thick with salt and chips. It’s the perfect base, no faffing about with long drives; everything feels close and alive. Sure, the arrival was a right faff, but it made the cottage feel like home from minute one – a gentle reminder that the best holidays come with a splash of mayhem. Can’t wait to go back.