I’ll never forget the drive up to Fife – we’d set off from Edinburgh full of beans, sandwiches packed and the sat-nav chirping away, only for it to conk out just past the Forth Bridge. Cue me fiddling with it like a caveman discovering fire, while my other half stifled giggles and we ended up following a tractor for ten miles. Still, by the time we trundled into the quiet lanes near Cupar, the anticipation was buzzing. Would it live up to the pics? As we pulled up, though, blimey, first impressions didn’t disappoint – this gorgeous spot, just a mile from Cupar, with its private hot tub gleaming in the front garden courtyard like a promise of pure bliss.

It’s a cracking holiday home, all ground-floor living that makes it dead easy for everyone, whether you’re a family or a gang of mates. Stepping inside, that open-plan living space hit us like a warm hug – sofas and armchairs begging you to dump your bags and flop down. Holiday mode? Switched on in seconds. We’d come for the golf buzz near St Andrews, but honestly, who needs fairways when you’ve got this? The joy was in doing sod all, and it turned out to be the best holiday ever.

Lazy cottage days became our religion. Mornings started slow, with coffee in hand, shuffling out to the courtyard. That hot tub? Absolute heaven. We’d sink in as the sun crept up, bubbles fizzing away any lingering city stress, watching birds flit about the garden hedges. No rush, no plans – just us, the water, and the odd cheeky sip of fizz before noon. Lunch was whatever we fancied rustling up from the local Cupar shops – crusty rolls, cheese from the farm stall down the road, eaten picnic-style on the garden bench. Afternoons blurred into reading marathons. I devoured a battered paperback I’d brought, feet up on the sofa, while the others dozed or fiddled with puzzles. The light filtering through the windows was perfect, all soft and golden, turning pages into a hypnotic rhythm.

One evening, bubbling away in the tub as dusk fell, I had a proper moment of self-reflection. There I was, prune-fingered and grinning like an idiot, thinking how we’re all wired to chase the next big thing – hikes up distant hills, packed itineraries. But here, a mile from Cupar’s cosy high street with its tearooms and butchers, slowing down felt revolutionary. No FOMO, just fizz and family chatter. We did pop into town once for a pub lunch – fish and chips that hit the spot – but mostly, it was garden lounging, nattering about nothing, and letting time stretch like warm toffee.

By the end, we’d barely scratched the surface of Fife’s gems, but who cared? This was recharge central. If you’re after proper downtime, with a hot tub throwing in that extra sparkle, it’s pure magic. Can’t wait to go back and do even less.