I’ll never forget the drive up to Denbigh last month – me behind the wheel, sat-nav chirping away, and my partner dozing in the passenger seat with a half-eaten pasty crumbling on her lap. We’d left Manchester early, aiming for that classic North Wales escape, but just past Ruthin, I took a wrong turn onto some narrow lane that had more sheep than tarmac. Twenty minutes of reversing round blind corners later, we were back on track, laughing about my legendary sense of direction. Still, the anticipation built as those rolling hills gave way to Denbigh’s sleepy charm – I could already picture us unwinding in our little holiday spot.

Pulling through the electric gates felt like entering a secret world. It’s a modern workshop conversion, all sleek and cosy, tucked just outside town in the quietest spot imaginable. We parked on the owner’s drive, hauled our bags in, and bam – first impressions were spot on. That open-plan living space hit us with its calm neutral tones and elegant flow, from the slick kitchen with all the gadgets you’d need for a lazy supper, to the breakfast bar where we cracked open a bottle of fizz before we’d even unpacked. It screamed “romantic retreat” without trying too hard, and I knew right then we’d barely leave the place.

Truth be told, that’s exactly what we did. North Wales has its epic hikes and castles – Denbigh’s got that brooding one right in town – but we were all about doing sod all, and this spot was perfect for it. Mornings started slow: I’d potter in the kitchen, brewing tea while she flicked through a dog-eared novel from the shelf. We’d carry mugs out to the garden, that tranquil little haven with views over the fields, and just sit there as the world woke up. No rush, no plans – just the rustle of leaves and the odd bird cheeping. I’d stretch out on a lounger with my book (some trashy thriller I’d been saving), feeling the sun creep up, while she sketched or scrolled through her phone for local folklore bits.

Afternoons blurred into the same blissful rhythm. We’d graze on cheese and crackers from the nearby Co-op – Denbigh’s got a cracking little market too, if you fancy a five-minute amble – then flop back in the garden with cold beers from the fridge. One day, I caught myself staring at a cloud shaped like a wonky dragon, wondering why I don’t do this more often. Work’s always nagging at the back of my mind, emails piling up, but here? Time stretched out like warm toffee. We’d chat about nothing – old holidays, daft dreams – or say nowt at all, happy in the silence. Evening meant lighting candles (they had some posh ones stashed away), dining at the table with whatever we’d rustled up, wine flowing as the sky turned pink over the hills.

Looking back, it was the ultimate reset. No grand adventures, just the joy of slowing right down in a place that wrapped you up like a favourite jumper. We left feeling lighter, already plotting a return. If you’re after proper peace in North Wales, find a gem like this – it’ll sort you out.