I’ll never forget the drive up to Aberfeldy in Perthshire – satnav insisting we were nearly there, only for us to take a wrong turn down a single-track road that seemed to lead straight into a sheep’s front garden. Cue a mild panic, a three-point turn involving more reversing than a learner driver, and a sheep giving us the side-eye as if we’d gatecrashed its lunch. But honestly, that little mishap set the tone for the whole trip: unexpected detours leading to the best bits.

Pulling up to this gorgeous detached house right in the heart of Aberfeldy felt like arriving at a proper home from home. Off-road parking sorted, we stepped inside to a spacious setup that sleeps ten no bother – perfect for our big family gang. The kitchen’s kitted out with everything you’d need for self-catering Scots style: electric oven, gas hob, fridge/freezer, washing machine, dishwasher, the lot. We wasted no time cracking open a bottle of bubbly in the formal dining room, toasting our escape from the daily grind. First impressions? Spot on. That homely sitting room with its bay window had us hooked straight away – woodburning stove fired up, sinking into the leather sofas with the TV flickering as the light faded over the hills.

I’d been buzzing with anticipation on the journey, dreaming of classic Perthshire hikes, but it was the accidental discoveries that stole the show. We’d planned a stroll along the River Tay, but got sidetracked by a barely marked path behind the local bakery that led us to a hidden waterfall cascading into a peaty pool – the kind of spot you’d never find on a tourist map. No crowds, just the roar of water and us giggling like kids as we skimmed stones. Perthshire’s got this magic for getting lost without the worry; one afternoon, aiming for the Birks of Aberfeldy (you know, those poetic woods Wordsworth banged on about), we veered off onto a deer track and stumbled into a secret glen carpeted with wild blueberries. Hands stained purple, we picked handfuls while a roe deer watched from the treeline – pure serendipity.

Another gem came from a “quick” cycle along the old drovers’ paths near the village. Map in hand? Forgotten. We ended up pedalling through a forgotten birchwood where the ground was spongy with moss, emerging at a tucked-away loch viewpoint that felt like our private postcard. No coach parties in sight, just mist rolling off the water and the thrill of having wandered off the beaten track. It made me pause for a bit of self-reflection, munching a soggy sandwich on a rock: when do we ever slow down enough to let the detours happen? Life’s too scripted back home.

Evenings back at the house were for swapping tales over stew in the dining room, stove crackling, before collapsing in front of a film. Proximity to those two national parks meant endless outdoor adventures, but it was these hidden corners – found by sheer daft luck – that made the holiday unforgettable. Perthshire’s scenery is stunning, sure, but it’s the getting lost that etches it into your soul. We’re already plotting a return for more.