I’ll never forget the drive up to Fife – we’d set off from Edinburgh full of beans, dreaming of lazy days by the coast, only for the sat-nav to chuck us into a massive tailback just past the Forth Bridge. Turned out some daft cow had flipped their caravan, and there we were, stuck for an hour with nothing but Radio 2 and a bag of slightly squished Hobnobs. By the time we rolled into Cupar, about a mile from our spot, I was knackered but buzzing with that proper holiday anticipation – you know, the kind where you imagine sinking into a chair with a brew and not moving for days.

Pulling up to the place, my first impressions were spot on. It’s this cracking ground-floor holiday home, all cosy and inviting, tucked away near Cupar with a private hot tub right in the front garden courtyard. Stepping inside felt like a warm hug – that open-plan living space with its sofas and armchairs just begging you to dump your bags and switch on holiday mode. No faffing about with stairs or unpacking marathons; we kicked off our shoes, cracked open a couple of cold ones from the fridge, and that was us sorted.

The joy of it all was doing bugger all, really. St Andrews is just down the road – what, five minutes in the car? – but we barely stirred. Mornings kicked off with a slow potter to the kitchen for toast and coffee, then straight out to the courtyard. That hot tub became our command centre: bubbling away under the Fife sky, whether it was drizzly or one of those rare blue-sky days. I’d sink in up to my neck, book in hand (I’m working my way through a battered copy of Rebus – moody Edinburgh detective vibes, perfect for Scotland), while the others lounged on the garden chairs, scrolling telly on their phones or just staring at the clouds. No schedules, no rush; just the gentle hum of nothing much happening.

Afternoons melted into reading sessions on the sofas, feet up, with the odd foray to the local shop in Cupar for milk and more biscuits. One day, I wandered the garden paths – it’s a proper little oasis, enclosed and peaceful – and caught myself thinking how I never slow down like this at home. Work’s always nipping at my heels, emails pinging away, but here? Time stretched out lazy as a cat in the sun. We did venture once to the beach at Kingsbarns, just a short hop away, for a windy walk and fish suppers from the van, but even that felt like too much effort. Back to the hot tub, where the sunset turned the water pink, and we chatted rubbish till our fingers pruned.

It was one of those trips that makes you reflect: why don’t I do this more? No grand adventures, no ticking off landmarks – just the sheer bliss of a Fife cottage slowdown. If you’re after a St Andrews base that lets you recharge without the golf-course frenzy, this is it. Pure, unadulterated loafing heaven. Can’t wait to go back.