I’ll never forget the drive down to Pembrokeshire – one of those classic British road trips where the sat nav decides to have a midlife crisis just as you hit the twisty lanes near Pembroke. We’d loaded up the car with enough snacks to feed a small army, the kids buzzing in the back, and me behind the wheel humming along to some dodgy 90s playlist. Then, bang, a puncture. Right there on a narrow country road with sheep eyeing us suspiciously from the hedges. Half an hour later, spare tyre on and tempers only slightly frayed, we rolled into Pembroke, hearts lifting at the sight of the cottage peeking out from its spot. What a first impression – this elegant house, pale yellow with smart anthracite grey accents and those lush green potted plants bursting with life. It screamed welcoming vibes, perfect for our family of five (with room to spare).

Stepping inside was like sinking into a big, cosy hug. The open-plan living space hit you first – that warm sitting area with its woodburning stove tucked into a brick alcove, and a massive corner sofa begging you to flop down. We dumped the bags, cracked open a bottle of fizz, and just... stayed put. That’s the joy of it, isn’t it? No grand plans, no manic itineraries. Just lazy cottage days stretching out like the perfect nap.

The first morning, I wandered out to the enclosed patio, mug of tea in hand, and there it was: the hot tub steaming gently under a soft Welsh sky. The kids claimed it immediately, splashing about while I fired up the stove inside, the crackle of logs the only soundtrack we needed. We’d mooched around Pembroke’s little high street that afternoon – grabbed pasties from the bakery and ice creams that dripped faster than the conversation flowed – but honestly, it was the pull back to the cottage that won every time. Back home, feet up on that sofa, we’d flick on the cinema room for a family film marathon. Popcorn everywhere, blankets piled high, and me sneaking in a chapter of my book when no one was looking. Bliss.

There’s something magical about slowing right down in a place like this. I caught myself one evening, staring out at the garden as the sun dipped low, thinking how I’d spent the whole week achieving precisely nothing. No emails, no deadlines, just the rustle of pages and the burble of the hot tub. The garden became our world – lounging on the patio with a GandT, watching clouds drift by, or curling up by the second stove with a board game that descended into giggles. Even the rain – because, Wales – just meant more excuse to hunker down inside, stove roaring, feeling utterly content.

It’s funny how you don’t realise how wired you are until you unplug completely. Those few days in the cottage recharged us more than any adventure could. If you’re after proper downtime, with a side of family warmth, this is the spot. We left promising ourselves we’d be back, already dreaming of more of those gloriously idle hours.