I’ll never forget the drive up to Loch Ness – a proper white-knuckle affair after our sat-nav decided to chuck a wobbly just past Inverness. It kept insisting we turn left into a sheep-dotted field, so we ended up doing a three-point turn on a single-track road with a lorry bearing down on us. Heart in my mouth, but we laughed it off, windows down, with the Highland air already working its magic. By the time we crested the hill into Foyers, the anticipation was buzzing – that mix of nerves and excitement, wondering if the place would live up to the photos.

Pulling up to our little rural terraced cottage apartment, I was gobsmacked. Tucked into the hillside, it overlooked this dramatic sweep of countryside that just took your breath away. One bedroom, perfect for us two, with a cosy, rustic vibe that screamed romantic escape. The front garden was the star – enclosed with decking and chairs, begging for lazy afternoons. First impressions? Spot on. We dumped the bags and cracked open a bottle of wine right there on the deck, toasting the view as the sun dipped low.

What followed were the best few days of doing sod all, and I mean that in the most glorious way. No grand plans, no hiking marathons – just pure, unadulterated slowing down. Mornings started late, with coffee brewed in the sleek little kitchen (slimline appliances that looked dead posh against the homely dining nook for four). We’d wander out to the garden, books in hand, and plonk ourselves on the furniture, feet up, staring at the rolling hills. I devoured a battered paperback thriller, losing hours while the other half nodded off in the chair, a blanket over their knees. The log burner in the sitting room, reached through those lovely French doors, became our evening haven – a gentle crackle as we sipped tea, watching dusk settle over the landscape.

One afternoon, I caught myself just sitting there, mug gone cold, mesmerised by a buzzard circling lazily overhead. It hit me then – how rarely we let ourselves switch off like this. Back home, life’s a treadmill of deadlines and to-do lists, but here? Time stretched out. We’d potter about making simple suppers – pasta with whatever we’d grabbed from the village shop – then back to the deck for stargazing. No light pollution, just a sky full of wonders. A bit of gentle rain one evening sent us inside giggling, curling up by the burner with hot chocolates.

It was blissfully uneventful, and that’s the joy of it. No need for monster hunts or big adventures along the loch – though we did spot a heron down by the water one misty morning stroll. Just us, the cottage, and that garden view pulling us into a proper Highland rhythm. Leaving felt like waking from a dream, but I’m already plotting our return. If you fancy recharging your batteries, this is the spot. Pure magic in doing nothing at all.