I’ll never forget the drive up to that farmhouse near Enniskillen – it was one of those journeys that starts off full of promise and ends in a comedy of errors. We’d left Belfast early, buzzing with excitement about a proper countryside getaway in Fermanagh, imagining rolling hills and fresh air. But no sooner had we hit the A4 than the sat-nav decided to throw a wobbly. “Recalculating,” it chirped cheerily, as we veered off onto some narrow back lane that looked like it hadn’t seen a car since the Troubles. Then, just to top it off, we had a puncture – right in the middle of nowhere, with sheep eyeing us suspiciously from the hedges. Me, faffing about with the spare tyre while my other half held the phone for light, both of us giggling like idiots in the drizzle. Took us an hour longer than planned, and by the time we trundled into Letterbreen, I was starving, windswept, and questioning my life choices.

But oh, what a payoff. Pulling up to this working farm property, with its ramp access welcoming us straight in, felt like stumbling into a hug from an old mate. The place has this proper homely vibe – think traditional farmhouse kitchen with a big dining table perfect for plotting adventures over tea, and that cosy oil Stanley range chucking out warmth like it meant business. We dumped our bags and just stood there, jaws dropped at the views: endless green fields stretching out, dotted with grazing cows and the odd tractor chugging by. It’s immersive, you know? Like you’re part of the farm life without having to muck out anything yourself.

First impressions? Spot on. The décor’s all welcoming and lived-in, nothing flashy, just comfy sofas and a Smart TV for rainy evenings (which we’d soon need). And the wet room – brilliant for anyone with mobility needs – made everything dead easy. We cracked open a window, and the scent of damp grass and hay wafted in. Pure bliss after our road saga.

That first afternoon, we barely moved. Poured ourselves cups from the range, raided the welcome pack of local scones and butter, and just soaked it in. Later, we wandered the farm paths – well, hobbled, after my tyre heroics – spotting butterflies and listening to the birds. Dinner was simple: thrown-together pasta with views for company. No fancy restaurants needed; places like this make you realise how much you crave that slow pace.

Reflecting on it now, that mishap-filled arrival was a gift. It stripped away the rush, forced us to laugh it off, and made the farmhouse feel even more like a sanctuary. In a world of slick hotels, there’s something magic about arriving frazzled to a spot that wraps you up and says, “You’re home now.” If you’re after that immersed-in-the-country feel with all the comforts, this is it. We left already plotting a return – minus the flat tyre next time.