I’ll never forget the drive down to Pembrokeshire – a proper British road trip, innit? We piled into the car in the pouring rain from Cardiff, kids in the back squabbling over crisps, and me navigating with a dodgy signal on my phone. About halfway, disaster struck: a rogue sheep decided to photobomb the A40, slamming on the brakes just in time but spilling my thermos of tea all over the passenger seat. Cue much faffing with wet wipes and a detour to a Little Chef for a fry-up recovery. By the time we trundled into Broad Haven, I was knackered but buzzing with that holiday anticipation – you know, the bit where you imagine sunsets and zero responsibilities.

Pulling up to this cracking four-bedroom house tucked right in the Pembrokeshire Coast National Park, my first impressions were spot on. Off-road parking was a godsend after the sheep saga, and stepping inside felt like sinking into a hug. Ground-floor bedrooms for everyone – two with en-suites, all kitted out with proper wardrobes for our mountain of beach gear. It sleeps eight easy, perfect for our lot, and the whole place just screamed 'relax'.

But honestly, the real star? That enclosed garden with the hot tub. We barely left it. First morning, I cracked open a book – some trashy thriller I’d been saving – and plonked myself on a lounger, steam rising from the tub as the kids splashed about. The views over the coast were mental, all rugged cliffs and that endless sea shimmer, but we weren’t fussed about trekking miles. Nah, this holiday was about doing sod all, and it was bliss. Lunch was a lazy picnic of cheese ploughman’s from the village shop, eaten cross-legged on the grass while seals barked in the distance.

Afternoons blurred into hot tub sessions, bubbles churning as we chatted rubbish and watched clouds drift. One evening, I had a proper moment – sat there with a GandT, toes pruning, thinking how I’d been run ragged at work. Here, time just slowed. No emails, no deadlines, just the gentle lap of waves and family giggles. The balcony was tempting too, for morning coffees gazing at the bay, but the garden won every time. We did wander down to Broad Haven beach once, a five-minute stroll, for pebble skimming and ice creams that dripped faster than the sun set, but mostly? Sweet nothing.

Evenings were pure indulgence: barbecues with local sausages from the Haverfordwest butchers (grabbed on the way in), then collapsing into those comfy beds. No grand adventures, no Instagram heroics – just recharging in this slice of Welsh paradise. Looking back, that sheep was a blessing in disguise; it forced us to arrive slow and stay slower. If you’re after a proper unwind, this is your spot. We’re already plotting a return.