I’ll never forget the drive down from Glasgow to Ayrshire that Friday afternoon – satnav insisting we were nearly there, then bam, a cheeky wrong turn onto some narrow back lane near Maybole, courtesy of my hopeless sense of direction. We ended up laughing about it over the steering wheel, windows down, breathing in that fresh coastal air, with the sea glinting in the distance. By the time we pulled into the estate on the outskirts of this proper charming little town, my heart was doing little flips of anticipation. What a spot! Perched right in the heart of Culzean Castle and Country Park, this superb four-bedroom National Trust cottage felt like stepping into a storybook – courtyard views straight to the original clocktower, the castle looming grandly, and even a peek out to the waves. First impressions? Bloody brilliant, or rather, absolutely spot-on perfect for our family of six.

We dumped the bags and beelined for the kitchen/diner – well-equipped doesn’t even cover it, with everything you’d need to rustle up a feast. I’d promised myself I’d channel my inner chef this holiday, no takeaways allowed. First night, we cracked open a bottle of fizz at one of the two dining spots inside, and I attempted a simple pasta with local smoked salmon we’d grabbed en route. Turned out half-decent, if I say so myself, though the kids rated it a generous 7/10. Sat there overlooking the courtyard as the sun dipped, clinking glasses, it felt like proper luxury without the fuss.

Next morning, we wandered into Maybole’s high street, just five minutes away, eyes peeled for a farmers’ market vibe. Jackpot – a little weekly market with stalls groaning under Ayrshire potatoes, fresh bread, and cheeses that smelled like heaven. Snagged some ripe tomatoes, crusty rolls, and a wedge of local cheddar for picnics. Back at the cottage, lunch was my heroic haggis-stuffed mushrooms (pre-made haggis from the market, mind – no way was I tackling that from scratch). Washed down with tea overlooking the sea view, it hit the spot.

Evenings were for pubs, naturally. There’s a cracking one in Maybole, the clocktower views making it feel like our own private local. Pint of Tennent’s for me, Irn-Bru for the little ones, and their fish and chips? Golden batter, flaky cod, proper mushy peas – we demolished two platters. Another night, I got ambitious with a full roast using estate-inspired bits: local pork from the market, Yorkshire puds that didn’t quite puff but tasted grand. The family tucked in at the big dining table, stories flying, and I caught myself thinking, ‘Blimey, when did I turn into the holiday cook?’ Bit of a lightbulb moment – usually I’m the one faffing on my phone, but this place made me slow down, chop onions, savour the smells. Gentle nudge to my scatterbrained self.

We hit a cosy café in town for breakfast butties one drizzly day – bacon rolls with that Ayrshire black pudding, steaming hot. And don’t get me started on the Bakehouse nearby; their scones with clotted cream were a daily pilgrimage. Cooking fails aside (smoky attempt at Cullen skink, anyone?), the real joy was those shared meals, the courtyard buzzing with birdsong, castle backdrop making every plate Instagram-worthy without trying. Ayrshire’s food scene is unpretentious gold – markets bursting, pubs hearty, and this cottage the ideal base to gorge. Left fatter, happier, already plotting the return.