I’ll never forget the drive down to Pembrokeshire – a proper British summer road trip, windows down, radio blasting some indie playlist, until we hit that classic M4 snarl-up just past Cardiff. What should’ve been a straightforward three hours turned into five, thanks to me forgetting to check the traffic app and blindly following the sat-nav into a detour through some sleepy Carmarthenshire lanes. We arrived knackered but buzzing with that holiday anticipation, the kind where you’re already imagining cracking open a cold one on the patio.

Pulling up to the place in Saundersfoot was an instant mood-lifter. It’s this gorgeous, newly refurbished single-storey self-catering spot, all modern and chic inside – think sleek lines, comfy sofas that swallow you whole, and a kitchen that’s begging for lazy fry-ups. Tucked away in these peaceful, tranquil surroundings, it’s like a secret hideaway, yet only a short wander from the village heart with its harbour, beaches, and all those tempting shops and pubs. First impressions? Spot on. We dumped the bags, cracked the prosecco, and just breathed it all in.

The joy of it, though, wasn’t the usual dash around Pembrokeshire’s attractions – don’t get me wrong, Saundersfoot’s got cracking beaches for a gentle stroll, the harbour for watching boats bob about, and you could easily wander to a pub for fish and chips if the mood struck. But nah, this trip was all about doing bugger all, and it was bliss. Lazy cottage days became our religion. Mornings started late, with coffee in the garden – that private outdoor space is a dream, wildflowers nodding in the breeze, birds chirping away like they’re auditioning for a nature doc. I’d flop into a lounger with a battered paperback (currently devouring some P.D. James), while the other half fiddled with a podcast on their phone. No rush, no plans.

Afternoons melted into siestas or gentle potterings – maybe a ten-minute amble to the beach for toes in the sand, or nipping to the village for ice cream from one of those old-school parlours. Back home, it was reading marathons, the odd GandT as the sun dipped low, and evenings stretching out with board games or telly. The garden was our world: barbecues where half the sausages ended up charred (my speciality), and star-gazing from the patio, away from light pollution. It’s funny, isn’t it? We’re so wired for go-go-go back home, yet here, slowing down felt revolutionary. Made me reflect on how I’ve been chasing deadlines like a headless chicken – this holiday was a gentle nudge to just be.

Sure, you could cycle the coastal paths nearby or try a spot of golf at one of the local courses, but we barely scratched that surface. The real magic was in the nothing: recharging, laughing at daft jokes, feeling the tension ebb away. Pembrokeshire’s got endless adventures on the doorstep, but for us, this chic little retreat was perfect for pressing pause. Can’t wait to go back and do even less.