I’ll never forget the drive down to Pembrokeshire – one of those classic British road trips where the satnav decides to have a midlife crisis just as you’re weaving through the narrow lanes near Haverfordwest. Mine kept insisting we’d arrived when we were still miles out, so we ended up looping past the same sheep-filled field three times. A right faff, but by the time we crested that final hill and spotted the coast path snaking along the cliffs, all was forgiven. The anticipation had been building for weeks – visions of salty air and proper downtime – and pulling up to our charming stone cottage with its private hot tub felt like the perfect payoff. First impressions? Spot on. Tucked away in a quiet spot near St Davids, it had this cosy, welcoming vibe that screamed ‘forget the world, stay here forever’.

We’d booked it precisely because we fancied doing sod all for once. No grand itineraries, no ticking off coastal hikes (though the Pembrokeshire Coast Path was literally a stone’s throw away if we fancied a gentle amble). Instead, it was all about lazy cottage days, letting the rhythm of the place wash over us. Mornings started slow: a cuppa on the patio, watching the garden come alive with butterflies flitting around the wildflowers. The space was a proper suntrap, enclosed just enough for that private feel, with the hot tub bubbling away like it was daring us to hop in. Which we did, obviously – mid-morning, robes on, pretending we were at some posh spa. Hilarious how something so simple feels indulgent when you’re miles from the daily grind.

Afternoons blurred into reading marathons. I’d sprawl on a lounger with a battered paperback – some daft crime thriller I’d picked up in St Davids’ little bookshop – while the other half nodded off under the parasol. The garden was our universe: lazy bees droning, distant waves crashing faintly from Whitesands Bay down the path. We’d pop into St Davids for supplies – fresh pasties from the bakery or cheese from the market – but honestly, we barely left. One day, I managed a whole chapter without moving, which is my idea of peak relaxation. There’s a gentle humour in it, isn’t there? Us lot always rushing about, then plonking ourselves somewhere gorgeous and realising doing nothing is the best plan.

Evenings were hot tub heaven as the sun dipped, turning the sky all pink over the cathedral’s silhouette. We’d chat nonsense or just sit in companionable silence, steam rising around us. No phones, no pings – pure bliss. Reflecting on it now, that week was a quiet nudge: I’m rubbish at switching off back home, always chasing the next thing. Here, in this little Pembrokeshire haven, time stretched out lazily, and I finally got the hang of savouring the moment. If you’re after a break that’s all about recharging without the effort, find yourself a spot like this. We’re already plotting a return – satnav glitches and all.