I’ll never forget the drive down to Pembrokeshire – we’d piled into the car with enough snacks to feed a small army, but about halfway there, disaster struck. The sat-nav decided to have a midlife crisis and rerouted us through some winding back lanes that felt like they hadn’t seen daylight since the 1800s. We ended up stopping at a tiny petrol station for emergency crisps and a brew, laughing about how our grand Welsh getaway was already off to a chaotic start. But as we finally crested the hill towards Milford Haven, the anticipation bubbled up – those glimpses of the glittering water had us buzzing.

Pulling up to the place, my jaw dropped. It’s this cracking four-bed cottage, perfect for our group of eight mates and family, all kitted out with quirky charm and pops of colour that make it feel like a proper holiday hug. And that private hot tub with views straight out to the water? Pure bliss. First impressions were spot on – we cracked open a bottle of local cider on the deck, toasting the sea views as the sun dipped low.

From there, it was all about the food, and Pembrokeshire delivered in spades. Our first evening, we raided the nearby Milford Haven market for fresh crab and lobster straight off the boats – couldn’t resist. I fancied myself a chef and attempted a seafood feast in the cottage’s big kitchen. Big mistake. The crab claws fought back, and what was meant to be a posh linguine turned into a slightly lumpy pasta puddle. We howled with laughter over it, scraping it onto plates and declaring it “rustic Welsh fusion”. Paired with crusty bread from the local bakery, it wasn’t half bad – or maybe the wine helped.

Next day, we wandered to the fish quay for breakfast baps loaded with smoked mackerel and tangy cockles. Blimey, the freshness! Nothing beats that salty sea air mixing with hot butter. We spent the afternoon pottering around the marina shops, picking up Pembrokeshire cheeses – crumbly Caerphilly and creamy Perl Las – plus some smoked salmon for later. Back at the cottage, I had another bash at cooking: a simple roast lamb shoulder from the butcher’s, rubbed with local honey and rosemary from the garden patch. This time, success! We ate al fresco, the hot tub steaming nearby, while the kids (and a few of us adults) splashed about.

Evenings were pub heaven. The local in Milford Haven became our haunt – think hearty fish pies, battered cod the size of hubcaps, and chips so crisp they sang. One night, we tried the special: mussels in garlic cream, mopped up with sourdough. I reflected there over a pint, pint glass in hand, how these simple, shared meals were the real magic. No fancy restaurants, just cracking grub with cracking company, reminding me to slow down and savour more back home.

We wrapped up with a final market haul – bara brith and Welsh cakes for the road. That cottage, those views, and all that eating? Best escape ever. Can’t wait to go back.