I’ll never forget the drive over to Anglesey – we’d packed the car to the gills with enough snacks and books to last a nuclear winter, only for the sat-nav to chuck a wobbly just as we hit the bridge. It rerouted us down some narrow lane that felt more like a sheep’s personal runway, and we ended up with a branch wedged under the wheel arch. A quick stop, a bit of tugging, and a laugh about my rubbish parking skills later, we were back on track. By then, the anticipation was buzzing – the promise of proper downtime on the Isle of Anglesey, away from emails and deadlines.

Pulling up to this detached cottage on the edge of Benllech, just 0.2 miles from the buzz, my first impressions were spot on. It’s the sort of place that wraps you in a cosy hug straight away – think spacious living/dining room perfect for a gang of eight mates or family, with a proper dining table for toasting lazy evenings and sofas begging you to flop in front of the woodburning stove. There’s even a sleek kitchen/diner with a breakfast bar for those mornings when you fancy faffing about with a fry-up, all kitted out nicely.

But honestly, the real joy? Doing bugger all. We’d planned grand walks along Benllech beach or a potter to the little shops nearby, but that first afternoon set the tone. I cracked open a book in the garden – it’s a cracking spot, private and sunny, with views that make you forget the world exists. The sun filtered through, birds cheeping away, and I just sat there, tea in hand, letting the hours slip by. No rush, no itinerary. My other half joined with her novel, and we barely spoke for two hours. Bliss.

The days blurred into this glorious rhythm of slowing right down. Mornings meant lounging in the kitchen/diner, brewing coffee at the breakfast bar while debating nothing more pressing than what biscuit to dunk. Afternoons were garden territory – stretching out on the loungers, maybe flipping a page or two, watching clouds drift over the sea. One day, I swear I nodded off mid-chapter, waking to the gentle lap of waves in the distance from Benllech bay. Evenings? Gathering in the living room, stove crackling if it turned chilly, sharing stories over a bottle or three, but never late enough to wreck the next day’s sloth.

It got me reflecting, mid-week, sprawled in that garden with a cuppa. Life’s always go-go-go back home – work, kids’ football, the lot. Here, achieving nowt felt like the biggest win. No heroic hikes to Red Wharf Bay or anything daft; just us, the cottage, and the art of proper relaxation. We did nip to the beach once, toes in the sand, but mostly it was this: reading, dozing, breathing easy. If you’re after recharging, this corner of Anglesey delivers. Can’t wait to go back and do even less.