I’ll never forget the drive down to Tenby – a proper Welsh adventure that started with me taking a wrong turn near Carmarthen and ending up on a narrow lane that had more cows than cars. Heart in my mouth, I reversed for what felt like miles while a farmer gave me a cheery wave, and I arrived at our little apartment in Tudor Square feeling like I’d earned a medal. Tucked inside the historic Tenby Walls with a cracking view of St Mary’s Church, it was love at first sight – cosy, welcoming, and just begging us to kick off our shoes.

From the off, I had this bubbling anticipation about finally slowing down. No grand plans, just the joy of doing bugger all in the best possible way. A short stroll left or right, and you’re on one of Tenby’s beaches or by the harbour, but honestly, we barely made it past the front door those first couple of days. The garden out back became our private paradise – a sunny patch with a bit of grass, some pots overflowing with flowers, and a couple of chairs that practically hugged you into relaxation. I’d flop down with a cuppa, watching the clouds scoot by, and think, “This is it, isn’t it? Proper holiday bliss.”

Mornings were for lazy brekkies on the patio – toast slathered in marmalade, fresh coffee from the local roastery we’d nipped to on arrival. Then it was book time. I’d cracked open that thriller I’d been meaning to read for months, losing hours to the pages while the sea breeze rustled the leaves. My other half would potter about, maybe sketch a bit or just doze off with a podcast on. We’d chuckle about how we’d packed hiking boots for the Pembrokeshire coastal path but never once laced them up. “Why rush?” I’d say. “The path can wait; this chair’s got my name on it.”

Afternoons melted into siestas or gentle wanders – popping to the harbour for fish and chips wrapped in paper, eaten on a bench with gulls eyeing us hopefully. Evenings? A glass of wine in the garden as the sun dipped, St Mary’s silhouetted against the sky. One night, I caught myself staring at the stars, feeling a proper pang of self-reflection. Back home, life’s a whirlwind of deadlines and to-do lists; here, time stretched out like toffee. I realised I’d been running on empty without noticing – this holiday was my reset button, a reminder that joy’s in the pauses, not the plans.

We did venture out once or twice – a meander along the walls at dusk, breathing in that salty air, or a lazy lunch in one of Tenby’s eateries. But the real magic was those cottage days, doing very little and loving every minute. If you’re after a spot to switch off in Pembrokeshire, find yourself an apartment like this and just… stay. It’ll do wonders.