I’ll never forget the drive down to Pembrokeshire – that mix of excitement and mild dread as the sat-nav kept rerouting us through those narrow, hedge-lined lanes. We’d left Cardiff early, me and the wife with a boot full of snacks and a playlist of cheesy 90s tunes, but about halfway in, disaster struck: a rogue sheep decided our Fiat was its personal scratching post. No real damage, just a few woolly tufts and a heart-stopping honk, but it had us laughing through the sheepish apologies to the farmer who appeared out of nowhere. By the time we crested the hill towards Moylgrove, the anticipation was buzzing – golden light over the coast, and there it was, our stylish little cottage, all cosy and inviting, hugging the edge of this quiet Cardigan village like it was made for lazy family getaways.

First impressions? Spot on. We tumbled out of the car, bags everywhere, and the place just wrapped us up in that proper Welsh welcome – sea air thick with salt, and the promise of Ceibwr Beach just a couple of miles down the road. It’s the sort of cottage that feels like slipping into an old favourite jumper: compact for us two, but perfect for when the kids tag along, with space to sprawl out after a day’s adventuring. We dumped our stuff and cracked open a bottle of local cider on the patio, watching the sun dip towards the cliffs. Pure bliss, that first evening, with nothing but the distant waves and a cheeky robin eyeing our crisps.

The next morning, we ambled down to Ceibwr – a proper leg-stretcher of a walk, less than two miles, and suddenly we’re on this stunning cove with water so clear you could see the crabs waving hello. We paddled about like daft kids, skim stones, and I even tried a bit of bodysurfing, only to end up with a face full of seaweed. Hilarious, really – me flailing about while she captured it all on her phone for posterity. Back at the cottage, lunch was a chaotic affair: sandwiches with sand in them, kettle on for endless cups of tea, and that lovely muddle of wet towels and wellies by the door. Cottage life, innit? The joyful sort of disorder that makes you forget the world outside.

One afternoon, we wandered the start of the Pembrokeshire Coast Path, just a mile away – those rugged paths clinging to the cliffs, gulls screeching overhead, and not a soul in sight. We picnicked with pasties from the village shop, spotting seals bobbing in the bay. Pure simple pleasures: no screens, just us, the wind in our hair, and that humbling sense of how small you feel against the sea. Later, a quick jaunt to Poppit Sands, three and a half miles off, for a bit of beachcombing – her hunting for shells, me building the world’s wonkiest sandcastle. Evenings were for pottering: homemade stew bubbling away, board games by lamplight, and staring out at the stars. No grand plans, just this relaxed rhythm that’s so rare back home.

Looking back, it was one of those holidays that sneaks up on you – no drama, just gentle chaos and those quiet moments that stick. Made me reflect on how we rush about usually, and how a few days in a Pembrokeshire cottage resets the soul. If you’re after coast and countryside without the fuss, this is your spot. We’re already plotting a return.