I’ll never forget the drive to our little holiday spot near Barmouth – we’d packed the car to the gills with wellies, board games and enough tea bags to last a Welsh winter, only for the sat-nav to chuck us onto some winding back lane that had me gripping the dashboard like it was a rollercoaster. Just as we were starting to wonder if we’d end up in a cow field, a rogue pheasant shot across the road, making me slam the brakes and spill my thermos of coffee all over the passenger mat. Typical us, turning a two-hour journey into a comedy of errors, but we arrived laughing, buzzing with that proper holiday anticipation.

Pulling up to the property – a cosy historic farmhouse with its sweet little cottage attached – we were gobsmacked by the first impressions. Tucked away on a private hilltop in a peaceful corner of Eryri National Park, it felt like we’d stumbled into our own slice of heaven. Sweeping views of Snowdon’s peaks and the glittering Ceredigion Bay coastline stretched out forever, with heaps of outdoor space just begging for a bit of lounging. It was perfect for me and the missus, our two daft dogs in tow, promising a relaxed couple’s break laced with that charming cottage chaos we secretly love.

First morning, we cracked open the windows to birdsong and brewed a pot of tea on the Aga, feeling miles away from the daily grind. No grand plans, just simple pleasures: a gentle wander down to Harlech, only a mile and a half away, where we mooched along the long sandy beaches, toes in the sand, and nipped into the independent cafes for flaky pasties and proper Welsh cakes. The UNESCO-listed castle loomed dramatically above, but we were content people-watching and letting the dogs chase waves – pure bliss, with a side of sand everywhere.

Afternoons were for sinking into the rhythms of mountain life. We’d potter in the garden, the dogs rolling in the grass like puppies again, then head out for easy walks along the coastal paths, breathing in that crisp sea air. One evening, we ambled to Royal St David’s Golf Club, just three miles off – I’m no Tiger Woods, mind, but a cheeky nine holes with stunning links views had us giggling over my wayward drives. Back at the cottage, chaos reigned: dinner was a simple roast that somehow ended up with flour on the ceiling (don’t ask), followed by board games by the fire, the dogs snoring at our feet.

It got me reflecting one quiet sunset, sat on the hilltop with a GandT, watching the light fade over the bay. Life’s mad rush feels daft when you’re here – just us, reconnecting over cups of tea and daft mishaps. No phones pinging, no schedules; just the joy of being. If you fancy ditching the world for a spot of cottage life near Barmouth, this is it – heritage comfort, wild beauty and enough laughs to last till next time. We’re already plotting our return.