I finally made it to Portrush after what felt like the world's most faffing drive from Belfast. We'd set off bright and early, me at the wheel with a thermos of tea and the sat-nav promising a smooth hour and a half. But no, halfway there, I took a wrong turn onto some narrow country lane in County Londonderry, and we ended up stuck behind a tractor chugging along at snail's pace. Cue much laughing and me muttering about my hopeless sense of direction – classic me, turning a simple journey into a comedy of errors. Still, by the time we rolled up, the anticipation had built into proper excitement, and boy, were we not disappointed.

Pulling into the drive of this cracking four-bedroom detached holiday home, nestled right in the rural countryside with the sea just a stone's throw away at Castlerock Beach, I felt that instant holiday buzz. It's got this sociable open-plan setup inside, all contemporary and inviting, perfect for families or mates. You step through a handy porch to stash your shoes and beach bits, then flop into the snug sitting room for a bit of telly and proper feet-up relaxation. First impressions? Spot on – it screamed "switch off and chill" from the off.

We'd booked it for a lazy staycation, and that's exactly what we did. No grand plans, no rushing about – just the joy of doing bugger all, Northern Ireland style. Mornings started slow: I'd brew a pot of tea, grab a book from the shelf (I'd brought my battered copy of a Philippa Gregory novel), and head out to the garden. It's a belter of a spot, that garden – enclosed and peaceful, with views stretching over the fields towards the coast. I'd settle into a lounger, the sun peeking through (fingers crossed for no typical Irish drizzle), and lose myself in the pages while the others stirred. One day, I swear I didn't move for three hours straight, just reading and dozing, the only interruption a cheeky robin hopping about nicking crumbs from my biscuit plate. Proper daft, but hilarious – I even named him Barry.

Afternoons were much the same: lazy wanders down to Castlerock Beach, no more than a short stroll away, where we'd paddle in the shallows or just sit on the sand watching the waves. Back at the house, it'd be open-plan kitchen feasts – nothing fancy, think cheese toasties and fresh soda bread from the local shop, eaten al fresco if the weather played ball. Evenings? Curled up in the sitting room with a film on, or staring out at the sunset painting the sky over the glens. No need for Portrush's bustle; we were close enough to pop over for fish and chips once, but mostly, it was about slowing right down.

Looking back, that gentle mishap on the drive was a blessing – it forced us to laugh it off and embrace the pace. In our hectic lives back home, we never stop, do we? This place was my gentle nudge to reflect: sometimes, the best holiday is the one where you achieve precisely nowt but feel utterly recharged. If you're after pure, unadulterated loafing by the Causeway Coast, this is your spot. Can't recommend it enough.