I’ll never forget the drive down to Dumfries and Galloway – a proper faff from the start. I’d packed the car with enough tinned soup and teabags to last a siege, but about 20 miles from Annan, the sat-nav decided to throw a wobbly and sent us looping through some back lane that looked like it hadn’t seen tarmac since the war. We ended up in a muddy farm track, heart in mouth, reversing into a ditch with the dog barking like mad. Laughed it off in the end, though – nothing a quick tow from a passing tractor couldn’t sort. By the time we trundled up to the cottage, I was starving and buzzing with that holiday anticipation, dreaming of cracking open a bottle and rustling up something decent.

First impressions? Spot on. It’s this cracking end-of-terrace cottage tucked into a 400-acre dairy and beef farm, all rolling green hills around it, just three miles from Annan’s historic port. Converted from a 19th-century stable block, it’s been done up lovely – think fabulous open-plan living with a kitchen that’s got every gadget going, a dining spot, and a cosy sitting area with massive picture windows gazing out over the farm courtyard. Perfect for families, and the shared hot tub with the other two properties on site? Absolute bonus after a day out.

But let’s be honest, the real star was the food – or my attempts at it, anyway. First night, I fancied playing masterchef with local bits from Annan’s high street market. Nipped in and grabbed fresh eggs from a veg stall, some crumbly cheddar from the dairy man (couldn’t resist the farm irony), and a brace of mackerel that smelled like they’d swum in that morning. Back at the cottage, I tried pan-frying them with tatties and a splash of cream – turned out half decent, if a bit charred on one side. We scoffed it down at the dining table, windows open to the cows lowing outside, with a bottle of cheap red from the offy. Simple bliss.

Next day, we hit the Solway Seafood Shed just a couple of miles away – proper fresh catches straight off the boats. Picked up crab claws and smoked kippers, then back for a lazy lunch. I bodged a pasta with the crab (overcooked it, typical me), but the kids wolfed it anyway. Evening called for the pub – the Annan Arms, a belter of a local with low beams and real ales on tap. We had pints of something hoppy, then demolished fish and chips that were crisp as you like, with mushy peas on the side. Chatted to some farmers about the beef herds – turns out the farm’s own cows end up in pies like that. Felt dead connected to it all.

Midway through, I had a proper moment over brekkie one morning. Sat there with my burnt toast and farm-fresh butter, watching the mist lift off the fields, thinking how I never switch off at home. Here, faffing about with markets and pub grub was the holiday – no fancy restaurants, just good honest scran and a bit of self-taught cooking. Self-reflection over a cuppa: maybe I’m not half bad in the kitchen after all.

Last supper was a triumph: local sausages from the butcher’s in town, grilled with apples from a roadside stall and mash whipped up in that ace kitchen. Hot tub soak after, steaming away the fullness. If you’re after a foodie escape without the pretension, this Dumfries and Galloway spot’s your ticket – markets, pubs, and your own culinary disasters included. Can’t wait to go back.