I nearly missed the turning for Newgale thanks to our sat-nav throwing a wobbly – it decided halfway through Fishguard that a scenic detour via some back lane was the way to go, leaving us bumping along with the kids chanting 'are we there yet?' from the back. But honestly, that little mishap just added to the anticipation; by the time we crested the hill and spotted the coast peeking out, hearts were lifted and we were proper buzzing about what lay ahead.

Pulling up to this cracking seven-bedroom holiday home just a short hop from Newgale Beach and Letterston, we were smitten straight away. Off-road parking for six cars meant no faffing about with narrow lanes, and stepping inside, the place just wrapped us up in its cosy welcome – think well-presented rooms that feel lived-in rather than showy, perfect for our big group of fourteen (plus five daft dogs who went mental with excitement). We dumped the bags and made a beeline for the kitchen, which had every gadget under the sun to whip up a slapdash pasta feast. Dinner was in the dining room, soundtracked by the free-standing jukebox belting out some cheesy 80s hits – cue impromptu dad-dancing that had everyone in stitches.

But the real joy? Proper doing bugger all. After that first evening, we declared it a 'slow-down holiday' and stuck to it like glue. Mornings kicked off lazy in the garden, sprawled on loungers with mugs of tea, watching the dogs chase shadows while the Pembrokeshire breeze rustled the hedges. It's that kind of spot, tucked near the Coast National Park but close enough to nip to Newgale for a paddle if fancy took us – though mostly, we didn't bother. The hot tub became our daily ritual, bubbling away as the sun dipped, turning into a giggling soup of family limbs and the odd splash fight.

Afternoons melted into reading marathons. I cracked open a battered paperback I'd been meaning to tackle for months, feet up in the sitting room, Smart TV murmuring some forgettable rom-com in the background. The kids vanished into bedrooms with their books or games, emerging only for snacks rustled up from the well-stocked fridge. No schedules, no rushing – just that delicious drift of time, where a nap sneaks in and suddenly it's tea time. One day, I caught myself staring out the window at nothing much, pondering how I'd let work emails dictate my pace back home. Here, it was like permission to exhale; life's too short not to savour the nothing.

Evenings wrapped up with more lounging – jukebox on low, planning a vague beach stroll for tomorrow that somehow never got more ambitious than the garden. With Letterston just minutes away for basics, we never felt cut off, but the magic was staying put, letting the rhythm of the place seep in. Driving away, I was already plotting a return. Sometimes, the best holiday is the one where you achieve sweet sod all.