I’ll never forget the drive down to Wexford – we’d packed the car with enough cheese toasties and crisps to last a siege, only for the satnav to chuck us off the main road into some narrow lane that felt like it was leading to Narnia. There I was, white-knuckling the wheel, while my other half helpfully shouted, “Are we lost yet?” Turns out, it was just a cheeky shortcut through the rolling fields, and by the time we spotted the village of Foulksmills, my heart was doing that excited flip you get when a holiday’s finally real.

Pulling up to this gem of a single-storey annex, right in the heart of the village, we were smitten from the off. Off-road parking for our little hatchback? Tick. And stepping inside – oh, what a treat. The spacious living-dining room opened up like a hug, with a smart TV begging for a binge-watch and a table that screamed “family feasts here”. Two cosy double bedrooms promised proper kip, and that bathroom with its double walk-in shower? Pure bliss after a day of Irish drizzle.

We were a couple on a chilled-out break, no kids in tow this time, just us chasing that cottage life vibe. First morning, I fancied myself as a proper chef, rustling up eggs and bacon on the hob, only for the smoke alarm to join the party uninvited. Cue frantic window-flapping and laughter that left us in stitches – classic us, turning brekkie into a comedy sketch. But that’s the joy of these spots: no pretensions, just simple pleasures like brewing tea in peace and watching the world go by.

Foulksmills is a dream for pottering about. We wandered five minutes to the local shop for fresh scones and milk, then ambled over to nearby Carrigfoyle Woods for a gentle forest stroll – those ancient trees whispering secrets, sunlight dappling the path, and not a soul in sight. Perfect for hand-holding and pretending we’re in a rom-com. Back at the annex, we’d flop on the sofa, TV on low, sharing stories from the day. One evening, we drove the short hop to nearby Newbawn for a pint at the pub – nothing fancy, just frothy Guinness and locals swapping yarns about the weather.

It got me reflecting, you know? In the rush of everyday life back home, we forget how restorative these escapes are. Sat there in the quiet glow of the living room, rain pattering softly outside, I realised it’s the little chaos – the burnt toast, the wrong turns – that stitches the memories tight. No grand adventures needed; just us, this Wexford haven, and the simple rhythm of unwinding. We left buzzing to return, already plotting the next mishap-filled jaunt. If you’re after that easy family-couple magic, this is your spot.