I’ll never forget the drive up to North Wales – sat nav insisting we take some winding back road through the hills, only for us to end up stuck behind a sheep farmer’s tractor doing about 10 miles an hour. Proper comedy gold, that was, with the kids in the back moaning about the delay while I’m there pretending it’s all part of the adventure. But as we finally crested that last hill and spotted the coast of Morfa Bychan twinkling in the distance, all the faff melted away. My heart did a little flip – you know that buzz when you’re proper close to unwinding?

Pulling up to the cottage, I was chuffed to bits. It’s this lovely three-storey number right in the heart of the village, on the coast, and from the off, it screamed cosy welcome. Stepping inside, the stylish, contemporary vibe hit me – light decor everywhere, making the whole place feel airy and bright, like a hug from an old mate. The kitchen’s kitted out with everything you’d need to whip up a fry-up or a pasta bake, complete with a dishwasher and washer/dryer that basically meant zero faffing about with chores. Then you wander through to the open-plan living space: massive dining table for eight (plenty for our lot), two huge sofas begging you to flop down with the Smart TV flickering away, or that conservatory calling your name for a book and a brew.

But honestly, the real magic? Doing sod all. After months of rushing about, this was my chance to slam on the brakes. First morning, I claimed the garden as my throne – it’s a cracking little spot, sheltered and sunny, with the sea breeze whispering through the hedges. Plonked myself in a chair with a pot of tea and the latest thriller, watching the world go by. No agenda, no timetable. The kids pottered off to Black Rock Sands beach just down the road, building sandcastles and paddling in the waves, while I stayed put, feet up, letting the sun warm my face. Lunch was a lazy rummage in the fridge – cheese on toast, sorted – eaten al fresco as gulls wheeled overhead.

Afternoons blurred into this blissful haze. I’d drift back to the conservatory, curl up on a lounger with another cuppa, and lose hours to my book. The other half joined me sometimes, both of us giggling at how we’d morphed into these contented slugs. One evening, as the sun dipped low over the dunes, I caught myself staring out at the horizon, thinking, ‘Blimey, when did I last just… stop?’ It was one of those gentle nudges, you know? Life’s mad sprint, and here I was, relearning how to breathe. No hikes up Snowdon or fancy outings – just us, the cottage, and the rhythm of the tide.

By the end of the week, I didn’t want to pack. Those lazy days in Morfa Bychan, garden-gazing and page-turning, were pure therapy. If you’re after a proper slowdown, this is the spot. Can’t wait to go back.