I’ll never forget the drive up to our holiday spot near Fort William – we’d loaded the car with enough snacks to feed a Highland regiment, only for the sat-nav to chuck us off at a random roundabout just past Spean Bridge. Turned out it was a cheeky shortcut through some winding single-track road, with sheep eyeing us suspiciously from the verges. Heart in mouth, we finally spotted the off-road parking in front of our ground-floor apartment, and honestly, the relief was massive. Stepping inside, kicking off the wellies in the porch, and peering through those massive patio doors to Loch Lochy and the mountains? Pure magic. First impressions? Spot on – it felt like our own cosy bolt-hole in the countryside.

We were a family of four, and with that open-plan living space, mornings started right. I’d faff about brewing tea while the kids pressed noses to the glass, watching mist roll off the loch. Breakfast was a proper affair: porridge with local honey nabbed from the Spean Bridge bakery on the way up, or scrambled eggs from eggs we’d somehow smuggled in without breaking. My cooking attempts were the real entertainment, mind. Day one, I fancied impressing everyone with a full Scottish fry-up – tattie scones, Lorne sausage, the works. But the hob was a bit temperamental, and my black pudding ended up more like hockey pucks. The family politely munched through it, stifling giggles, and I had a quiet moment thinking, ‘Blimey, city boy like me needs more practice at this rural lark.’

Food drove our whole trip, really. We’d pile into the car for the short hop to Fort William’s markets – the farmers’ market on a Saturday was a gem, stalls groaning under fresh smoked salmon, venison pies, and artisan cheeses that smelled like they’d been aged in a bothy. I loaded up on cranachan ingredients: raspberries plump as you like, oats, and whisky-soaked cream I whipped up back at the apartment. Turned out decent, served on the patio with views that made it taste Michelin-star. Evenings were pub time – the Lovat in Fort William was our go-to, just a quick drive away. Proper hearty grub there: Cullen skink that warmed you to your toes, or haggis, neeps and tatties that had us all scraping plates clean. The kids demolished fish suppers, while I nursed a pint of local ale, chatting with locals about the best spots for crab fishing off the loch shore.

One night, I tried my hand at a seafood pasta with mussels from the fishmonger near the pier – steamed them open on the hob while the other half rustled up garlic bread. It was a triumph, eaten al fresco as the sun dipped behind Ben Nevis, steam rising like Highland spirits. Mind you, not everything was gourmet; takeaway from the chippy in Spean Bridge saved many a rainy evening, wrapped in paper and scoffed on the sofa. Reflecting on it now, lounging in that apartment taught me something – it’s not just about posh nosh, but the faff and laughs around cooking together, with those loch views as your tablecloth. We left fatter, happier, and already plotting the next foodie getaway. What a cracking few days.