I’ll never forget the drive up to our holiday cottage near Ruthin – a proper North Wales adventure that started with a classic sat-nav fail. We’d piled into the car from Cheshire, kids in the back munching crisps, me fiddling with the playlist for some proper road-trip vibes. But halfway through, the signal dropped, and suddenly we’re rerouted down a narrow lane that felt more like a sheep track. There I was, white-knuckling the wheel as a tractor loomed round the bend, forcing us into a hedge. “Mum, are we lost forever?” piped up little Ollie from the back. We weren’t, thank goodness, but it did make the arrival all the sweeter.

Pulling up to this stunning luxury detached cottage, perched high up with those jaw-dropping panoramic views over the Denbighshire countryside, I felt that proper holiday buzz kick in. It’s the sort of place that screams “relax” – think inviting traditional charm mixed with all the mod cons for a family getaway. We could’ve booked it with those other refs to sleep a whole 22, but for us six, it was perfect luxury without the faff.

From the off, it was all about doing sod all, and I mean that in the best way. We dumped the bags and beelined for the garden, that elevated spot giving us endless vistas of rolling hills and distant Clwydian Range peaks. The outdoor hot tub was calling, but even better was just flopping into the cushy loungers with a brew, watching clouds drift by. No schedules, no rushing – just pure, unadulterated slowing down. I cracked open my battered copy of a Lee Child thriller I’d been saving, while the kids (miracle of miracles) actually picked up books too, sprawled on blankets pretending to be explorers without moving an inch.

Lazy cottage days blurred into one another like that. Mornings meant lazy brekkies on the patio – bacon butties and fresh coffee, steam rising as the sun burned off the mist. Afternoons? More reading, maybe a gentle wander around the garden paths, picking at wildflowers and spotting buzzards wheeling overhead. Evenings, we’d bubble in the hot tub as the sky turned pink, chatting nonsense or just sitting in companionable silence. One night, I caught myself staring at the stars – proper clear ones, no light pollution – and had this gentle moment of reflection: when did life get so frantic? Here, with the hills whispering “chill out,” I realised doing very little is the real skill. Who needs adventure parks when you’ve got this?

We did pop down to Ruthin once for pasties from the market – lush, flaky ones with proper Welsh rarebit vibes – but mostly, it was garden-centric bliss. The kids built dens from cushions, I napped unapologetically, and we all rediscovered that joy in proper downtime. No drama, no disasters post that drive. Just recharging in one of North Wales’ hidden gems. If you’re after a break that’s all about switching off, this is your spot. We’re already plotting a return.