I’ll never forget the drive up to that cracking 16th-century farmhouse near Pontypridd – my sat-nav decided to throw a wobbly just as we hit the winding lanes above the valleys, sending us on a merry detour through some sheep-dotted backroad that felt like it hadn’t seen tarmac since the war. We ended up at a dead end with a farmer eyeing us suspiciously over his fence, but honestly, it was the perfect mishap. By the time we finally rolled up, hearts racing a bit from the anticipation, the place blew us away. This lovingly converted holiday home welcomed us with open arms – or should I say, a proper Welsh ‘croeso’ – its spacious luxury vibe hitting us right away, those valley views stretching out like a postcard you’d never send home because it’s too good to share.

We were a big group, ten of us piled in for a long weekend, and from the off, it felt like our own little haven. The kitchen-diner became command central, that massive handmade timber table groaning under feasts we rustled up, the wood-burner crackling away while we chilled drinks in the old walk-in cold room (genius for a crowd). Downstairs, we sprawled in the two sitting rooms – one all cosy with its inglenook and woodburner for board games, the other sleek and modern for binge-watching DVDs. Upstairs, the five bedrooms sorted everyone out nicely: doubles, a twin, a bunk room for the kids (adult-sized, thank goodness), and that master with en-suite and killer views. The family bathroom’s roll-top bath was pure indulgence after a muddy day out.

But the real magic? Getting properly lost in those hidden corners of Mid Wales you stumble on by accident. We’d set off from the farmhouse’s boot room, wellies on, bikes stashed secure, thinking we’d hit the obvious trails, but no – one wrong turn down a barely marked lane led us to this tucked-away waterfall spot near the River Rhondda. Crystal clear pool at the bottom, nobody else around, just us splashing about like daft kids. Laugh-out-loud moment when I slipped on moss and ended up waist-deep – served me right for striding ahead like I owned the place.

Another day, faffing about on footpaths above Pontypridd, we veered off the map (signal’s rubbish up there, mind) and found this forgotten picnic glen with wild garlic thick as carpet and views that made you forget Cardiff was just 20 minutes down the road. We picnicked there till dusk, spotting red kites wheeling overhead. Even a cycle loop gone wrong spat us out at a wee community orchard – gnarly old apple trees heavy with fruit, a bench overlooking the valley mist. Proper off-the-beaten-track gems, the kind you only find when you stop trying.

Sitting by the fire that last night, nursing a cuppa, I had one of those quiet moments: holidays like this remind you life’s too short for tourist traps. Getting lost up here, with mates and family in a spot like that farmhouse, recharged my batteries more than any fancy spa ever could. If you’re after South Wales’ secret side – the peaceful valleys, the accidental adventures – this is your spot. We’re already plotting a return.