I’ll never forget the drive up from London to Prestonpans – or rather, the comedy of errors that got us there. We’d packed the car with enough cheese toasties and thermos flasks to last a siege, but halfway through the Borders, the satnav decided to throw a wobbly and sent us down a winding farm track that looked like it hadn’t seen tarmac since the Jacobites. Cue much faffing about with maps on our laps, a bit of light bickering, and me declaring I’d make a rubbish explorer. Still, by early afternoon, we’d stumbled into this tranquil spot just outside Edinburgh, hearts lifting at the sight of lush lawns and mature trees framing our home for the week.

Pulling up to the 1780s Scottish Baronial manor house – all turrets and welcoming glow amid its private acre of colourful borders – felt like stepping into a period drama, but without the corsets. Five bedrooms, two cosy living rooms, a grand dining room, and a massive kitchen diner screamed family gathering heaven, though it was just us two lovebirds this time, playing at Lord and Lady of the Manor. First impressions? Magic. Total privacy, yet the train station was a hop away for Edinburgh’s buzz – thirteen minutes, they said, and they weren’t wrong.

We wasted no time hunkering down into cottage life chaos, the relaxed sort that makes you forget the world. Mornings kicked off with lazy brews in the kitchen diner, windows flung open to birdsong, before ambling down to Prestonpans’ cockle shore for a spot of beachcombing. Nothing fancy – just picking up weathered shells, dodging the odd jellyfish, and laughing as the East Lothian wind whipped our hoods about. One day, we wandered to the nearby battleground trail, reliving Bonnie Prince Charlie’s antics over packed lunches, feeling properly immersed without the crowds.

Afternoons were for simple pleasures: firing up the barbecue on the lawn (with a minor singe to my eyebrows – husband’s fault, naturally), or pottering in the borders, deadheading roses like we owned the place. We even snuck in a round at Muirfield Golf Course nearby, though my swings were more enthusiastic than elegant. Evenings meant train jaunts to Edinburgh – Waverley Station in a flash – for a wander up the Royal Mile, nipping into cosy pubs for a pint and haggis bonbons, or just people-watching on Princes Street with fish suppers in hand. Back at the manor, we’d collapse into the living rooms with a bottle of Borders red, bingeing telly or playing board games till we nodded off.

It was blissfully rejuvenating, that mix of switch-off solitude and city sparkle. Made me reflect, mid-week over tea in the grand dining room: we’re so caught up in the daily grind, aren’t we? This break reminded me how a bit of manor mischief and seaside simplicity recharges the soul. No regrets, just a quiet promise to return – maybe with the grandkids next time, to share the chaos. If you’re after a chilled couple’s escape near Edinburgh, this is your spot. Pure joy.