I’ll never forget the drive down to Pembrokeshire – a proper Welsh road trip with the sat-nav playing up halfway through, sending us on a detour through some narrow lanes that had me white-knuckling the wheel while my other half laughed and snapped pics of the sheep giving us the side-eye. We’d been buzzing with anticipation all morning, dreaming of that first salty sea breeze after months cooped up at home, but by the time we rolled into Moylegrove, we were a tad frazzled and starving. Still, as we pulled up to this cosy little studio tucked right in the Pembrokeshire Coast National Park, all that melted away. What a belter of a first impression – perched in the most perfect spot, with views that whispered promises of lazy coastal days ahead.

It’s the sort of place that feels like a hug from an old mate: compact and characterful, ideal for us two and the dog, who went mental sniffing every corner the second we opened the door. We dumped the bags, cracked open a couple of tins, and just soaked it in – the gentle hum of the countryside outside, no traffic noise, just pure, easy-going bliss. That first evening, we wandered less than a mile down to Ceibwr Bay, and blimey, it’s wild down there. Remote cliffs plunging into the sea, waves crashing like they owned the place, and we spent ages peering out for porpoises. Didn’t spot any that time, but the thrill of it had us grinning like kids.

Next morning, after a fry-up that was more enthusiasm than expertise (I managed to char the sausages while faffing with the toaster), we hit the Pembrokeshire Coast Path right from the doorstep. It’s magic, that path – winding along the clifftops with coves popping up like hidden treasures. We ambled for a couple of hours, dog bounding ahead, stopping for pebble-skipping contests and impromptu picnics of cheese and crackers. There’s something dead simple about it all: no itinerary, just the rhythm of your feet on the trail and the wind in your hair. Later, we drove a few miles to Poppit Sands – wide, sandy perfection for a bit of gentle paddling and building the world’s wonkiest sandcastle. The water was bracing, mind you; one dip and we were yelping back to the towels, vowing to toughen up tomorrow.

Evenings were pure cottage chaos in the best way. We’d rustle up pasta with whatever we’d nabbed from Cardigan market – just six miles away, that 900-year-old castle looming over stalls heaving with fresh bread, local cheeses, and crab fresh off the boats. One night, the dog knocked over my wine glass mid-dinner, sending merlot everywhere, and we ended up in hysterics mopping it up with tea towels. It got me reflecting, sat there by the window with the sun dipping low: life’s too short for five-star fuss. This break reminded me how brilliant it is to unplug, embrace the little mishaps, and just be – with your favourite person, a daft dog, and the sea on your side.

We didn’t bother with anything flash; no watersports or epic hikes for us, just mooching along Newport Beach one afternoon, toes in the sand, watching the world go by. Pwllgwaelod was another gem nearby, quiet and perfect for a sunset stroll. By the end of the week, we were proper hooked on that relaxed rhythm – simple pleasures like morning coffee on the step, coastal walks that cleared the cobwebs, and those unexpected porpoise sightings that finally happened on our last day. If you’re after a chilled family-couple escape with dog-friendly vibes and zero pretensions, this is your spot. We’re already plotting a return.