I’ll never forget the drive up to Fort William – rain lashing the windscreen like it had a personal grudge, and then, just past the Glencoe turn-off, the sat-nav decided to throw a wobbly and sent us on a merry detour through some single-track road that felt more like a sheep’s personal runway. We were bumper-to-bumper with a flock at one point, honking their horns in protest, and I couldn’t help laughing as my other half muttered about why we hadn’t just flown to Spain instead. But honestly, that little mishap only ramped up the anticipation – by the time we crested the hill and spotted the house nestled beside the Caledonian Canal, with Ben Nevis looming like a brooding giant across the water, I was grinning ear to ear. First impressions? Pure magic. This newly built eco house, finished just last year, hit us with those soaring vaulted ceilings and massive windows flooding the place with light – it felt like stepping into a hug from the Highlands themselves.

We’d booked it for a family getaway with our mates – eight of us plus the dog, who immediately claimed the sofa as his throne. Parked up, unpacked in minutes, and straight into that cracking kitchen-diner with its big table for eight and every gadget you could dream of. But do you know what? The real joy wasn’t in firing up the Aga for some grand feast (though we did manage a cracking stew one night). Nah, it was all about doing sod all, and loving every lazy second.

Picture this: mornings in the garden, mugs of tea in hand, watching mist roll off the Grey Corries while the canal glints like a silver ribbon. I’d flop into one of those loungers with a dog-eared paperback – some tatty crime novel I’d been meaning to crack for months – and lose hours as the world slowed to a crawl. No rush, no schedules, just the odd bleat from sheep on the hillside or a heron flapping lazily by. Afternoons blurred into dozing under the sun (when it deigned to show), or sprawling in the living room with board games that somehow turned into epic storytelling sessions, fuelled by shortbread and whisky from the local shops. The dog chased butterflies in the garden, we wandered down to the canal towpath for a gentle potter – close enough to feel the breeze but never straying far – and that was it. Blissful nothing.

There was this one moment, sat there with the sun dipping behind Ben Nevis, book forgotten on my lap, when it hit me: how often do we bolt through life at 100mph? Here, with the views demanding nothing but appreciation, I felt properly unplugged. A gentle nudge to myself – yeah, mate, you needed this. We did venture out once or twice, nipping to the Neptune’s Staircase locks for a mooch or grabbing fish and chips from the high street, but mostly? We stayed put, savouring the slow burn of Highland peace. If you’re after proper downtime in Scotland’s backyard, this is the spot. Couldn’t recommend slowing down here more highly.