I’ll never forget the drive up from Glasgow – we’d rented a car at the airport, thinking we’d beat the traffic, but no such luck. About halfway there, just past the city edges, we hit a massive downpour that turned the M8 into a bit of a swimming pool. The windscreen wipers were going full pelt, and I was gripping the wheel like my life depended on it, while my partner fiddled with the sat nav, insisting we were nearly there. “Just another ten minutes,” she said, for the umpteenth time. We arrived a tad frazzled, but as we pulled into this quiet spot in the village of Drymen, the rain eased off, and honestly, it was love at first sight. Tucked neatly as part of the owner’s own place, this mid-terraced cottage looked like it had been plucked straight from a postcard – all cosy and inviting, with that high-end renovation shine that promised proper comfort.

Stepping inside, we were greeted by the restful sitting room, brimming with character and just the right amount of charm. I flopped onto the sofa straight away, flicked on the impressive Smart TV, and let out a massive sigh of relief. After the drive, it felt like we’d stumbled into our own little haven, far enough from the bustle but close enough to feel connected. The country kitchen was a dream too – we rustled up some pasta that first night with all the gadgets and bits you could need, then sat at the sociable dining table with a bottle of red, chatting rubbish and unwinding properly.

The real magic of the place, though, was how it lured you into doing absolutely sod all – and I mean that in the best possible way. We’d planned grand walks around Loch Lomond, maybe a jaunt into the Trossachs, but in the end, we barely stirred. Mornings were for lazy brews in the kitchen, peering out at the garden, which was this lush, private patch begging for a deckchair. I’d grab a book – some tatty thriller I’d packed – and spend hours there, feet up, listening to the birds and the odd distant bleat from sheep. Lunch was whatever we fancied knocking together, eaten al fresco if the sun played ball, which it did more often than not.

Afternoons blurred into dozing, scrolling through photos of nothing much, or just staring at the clouds scudding over the hills. One day, I caught myself reflecting on how knackered I’d been before we left – work piling up, endless to-do lists. Here, time slowed right down; no rush, no plans, just the joy of being. My partner took to sketching in the garden, and we’d share a cuppa, giggling about how we’d turned into proper layabouts. Evenings were back in the sitting room, TV on low, maybe a board game if we were feeling energetic, but mostly just sinking into that deep, contented quiet.

It was the perfect reset – no epic adventures, just the sheer bliss of a cottage that made slobbing out feel luxurious. If you’re after a spot to switch off near Glasgow, this is it. We left feeling human again, already plotting our return for more of the same.