I’ll never forget the drive up to Fort William that May – a proper Scottish adventure that started with me cursing my sat-nav as it cheerfully directed me down a single-track road that narrowed into what felt like a goat path. We’d left Glasgow early, buzzing with that holiday excitement, windows down, tunes blaring, dreaming of Loch Linnhe views and fresh Highland air. But about 20 miles out, disaster struck: a rogue sheep decided to photobomb our windscreen, sending us into a frantic swerve. No harm done, thank goodness, but my other half’s thermos of tea went flying, soaking the passenger footwell. “Welcome to the Highlands,” I laughed, mopping up with a spare sock while trying not to panic about the darkening clouds overhead.

By the time we rolled up to the holiday cottage – a cosy, modern wee place tucked just outside Fort William with those stunning Loch Linnhe vistas right from the windows – we were a bit frazzled but grinning like idiots. It was late afternoon, and the anticipation had been building all day; I’d been picturing this exact spot for weeks, scrolling photos that captured the place perfectly. The landscaping had just been finished – grass sown fresh in May 2023, still that vibrant new green underfoot, with borders bursting into colour. First impressions? Bloody brilliant, even through the arrival chaos. We tumbled out of the car, arms full of bags, only for the key safe to play hard to get. Code entered three times, nothing. Turns out I’d fat-fingered it, naturally. While I wrestled with that, a cheeky robin hopped over to inspect our boots, as if to say, “Hurry up, humans, tea’s on.”

Inside, it was even better than expected – light and airy, with everything spot-on for kicking back. We dumped the bags and straight out to the decking for that first gasp-worthy view: the loch shimmering under patchy sun, Ben Nevis brooding in the distance like a moody giant. The mishaps melted away; who needs a smooth arrival when you’ve got this? We cracked open a couple of tins (local craft beer, naturally), and just sat there, feet up, watching seals bob about in the water. It was one of those moments that hits you – me, usually rushing about like a headless chicken back home, finally pausing to breathe.

Next morning, we wandered down to the nearby shore, dodging puddles from overnight rain, and nipped into Fort William for supplies at the Morrisons. Proper fry-up fuel, plus some venison sausages for later. The afternoon was spent pottering around the property’s grounds – that new grass was begging for a barefoot stroll – and a gentle hike up the hill behind for panoramic shots. No grand plans, just soaking it in. Honestly, reflecting on it now, that sheep incident was a gift; it made the peace here feel even sweeter. If you’re after a proper Highland reset without the faff of city crowds, this is it – chaos and all. Can’t wait to go back.