I’ll never forget the drive up to Jedburgh in the Scottish Borders – we’d packed the car with enough snacks to feed a small army, only for the sat-nav to chuck a wobbly just as we hit the winding roads near the border. It rerouted us down some narrow lane that felt more like a sheep track, and there we were, arguing over whether to trust the thing or my dodgy sense of direction. In the end, we pulled over for a brew at a tiny roadside café I hadn’t even spotted on the map, laughing about how holidays always start with a comedy of errors. By the time we rolled into town, the anticipation was buzzing – those rolling hills peeking through the mist had us proper excited.

Pulling up to the high street, we were chuffed with our first impressions. It’s a cracking second-floor apartment, dead central but with that cosy Borders vibe – think electric fire for chilly evenings, a dishwasher to save the washing-up rows, and polished wooden floors leading straight into a bright sitting-dining room that floods with light from its double-aspect windows. Smart TV for a binge-watch after a day out, and you’re just a hop from all the local shops and pubs. Perfect for our little group of mates, we dumped the bags and cracked open a bottle, toasting to no more nav fails.

What turned this trip into pure gold, though, wasn’t the obvious spots – it was the hidden gems we stumbled on by getting gloriously lost. First morning, we fancied a wander and somehow veered off the high street onto a footpath that snaked behind the town. No map, just following a babbling burn that led us to this wee forgotten glen, carpeted in wild garlic and bluebells. We picnicked there on cheese rolls from the bakery down the road, ears pricked for the odd curlew call. Felt like we’d nicked a secret from the locals – proper off-the-beaten-track magic.

Next day, aiming for a gentle riverside stroll, we took a wrong turn at a crossroads and ended up on a single-track road climbing into the hills. Bloody brilliant mishap! It spat us out at an old peat track with views over patchwork fields, where we spotted a herd of Highland cows grazing like they owned the place. We parked up (well, pulled as far off as we could) and hiked a bit further to a tumbling waterfall you’d never find on TripAdvisor. Sat there with flasks of tea, watching the water crash down – pure bliss, and not a soul in sight.

Evenings brought more accidental finds. One night, post-dinner in the apartment’s sunny dining nook, we popped out for a pint and lost ourselves in the back lanes. Stumbled on a tucked-away community garden bursting with veg patches and honesty boxes for eggs. Chatted with a cheery gardener who tipped us off about a hidden viewpoint overlooking the Teviot Valley, just a ten-minute scramble away. We watched the sunset from there, golden light spilling over the Borders like spilled honey.

Looking back, I reckon that’s the joy of these Borders stays – they nudge you off the main drag into proper discoveries. I’m usually the one glued to my phone, but getting lost taught me to loosen up a bit, breathe in the fresh air, and let the place surprise you. We left Jedburgh knackered but buzzing, already plotting the next daft detour. If you’re after that kind of unscripted adventure, this neck of the woods delivers in spades.