I finally made it to Portrush after what felt like the world's slowest drive up from Belfast, cursing under my breath when we got a puncture just past Coleraine—nothing major, but enough to have us faffing about on the hard shoulder with a spare tyre and a flask of tea. Still, as we trundled into the Binevenagh area, the anticipation built; I'd been dreaming of this wee escape for months, picturing lazy days with nothing but the sea breeze and a good book.

Pulling up to the cottage, gravel crunching under the tyres, my first impressions were spot on. It's this practical little retreat tucked in the Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty, just a short hop from Limavady and those golden sands at Benone Beach. Off-road parking for two cars—handy that—and inside, it's all open-plan bliss: a cracking kitchen for rustling up brekkie, a dining spot for six (plenty for me, the missus, and the kids), and a sitting room with a plush corner sofa begging you to flop down with the TV or a cuppa. WiFi's there if you need it, but who bothers?

From the off, it was all about doing sod all, and I mean that in the best way. We arrived mid-afternoon, dumped the bags, and straight into the garden—overlooked by those rolling Binevenagh hills, it's a proper suntrap with space to sprawl on loungers or just sit with a brew, listening to the birds and the distant waves. No itinerary, no rushing to Giant's Causeway or anything daft like that; we're only a quick drive from Portrush if we fancied fish and chips later, but why bother? The joy was in the slowing down.

Mornings kicked off with me brewing coffee in that well-kitted kitchen, then out to the garden with the papers or a dog-eared paperback—I've been ploughing through that new Ken Follett, losing hours without a care. The kids vanished into their rooms with the second TV, happy as Larry with cartoons, while we adults rotated between sofa naps and gentle wanders down to Benone. One day, I swear I didn't move from the lounger till teatime; watched clouds scoot over the bay, felt the sun warm my face, and thought, "This is it, isn't it? Proper recharging."

There's a gentle humour in it too—me, the eternal fidget, trying to meditate and ending up picking at a scone instead, or the time I nodded off mid-chapter and woke with book on my lap, drool mark and all. Laughing about it over dinner (pasta from the stocked cupboards, nothing fancy), it hit me: life's rush back home had me wound tight as a spring, but here, in this unpretentious spot near Limavady village, I unwound proper. No grand adventures, just the sheer bliss of bugger all—reading till my eyes ached, garden gazing, family chats that meander like the Bann upstream.

By the last day, packing up felt like a chore; we dragged our heels, promising ourselves another lazy jaunt soon. If you're after Portrush-area peace without the hustle, find a spot like this. Slowing down? Best holiday trick going.