I’ll never forget the drive down to Saundersfoot – sat nav had us twisting through those narrow Pembrokeshire lanes like we were in a rally, only for me to take a wrong turn and end up nose-to-nose with a sheep that looked as baffled as I felt. A quick reverse and a sheepish wave later, we were back on track, hearts racing a bit but buzzing with that holiday anticipation. As we crested the hill into the village, the sea sparkling below, I knew we’d landed lucky.

Pulling up to our upside-down cottage – heart-warming spot with pleasant views and a comfy interior, perfect for our little family getaway – the first impressions were spot on. Ground floor had the family bathroom and two cracking bedrooms, a twin and a master with its own en-suite, both spilling out onto a shared balcony where you could wake up to the sound of gulls. Upstairs, the living space felt airy and modernised, ideal for couples or a small crew wanting to unwind.

But honestly, it was the locals who made the trip. First off, there was Dai the fisherman down by the harbour, all weathered grin and tales taller than the tide. I’d popped out for a morning stroll along Saundersfoot Beach – that wide sweep of golden sand that’s spotless thanks to the daily clean-up – and he was mending nets, regaling me with stories of the time a seal nicked his catch. “Cheeky bugger thought it was his birthday!” he chuckled, eyes twinkling. We got chatting about the best spots for crab lines off the rocks; he even sketched a dodgy map on a fag packet. Proper character, Dai – made me feel like I’d known him years.

Then, at the little family-run café tucked by the beach, I met Mags, the owner with a laugh like a foghorn and opinions on everything. She plonked down my flat white and launched into how Saundersfoot’s coped with the tourists: “We love ’em, mind, but don’t go feeding the seagulls – they’re fat enough!” Over bacon butties, she quizzed me on my city life up north, sharing gems about spotting dolphins from Coppet Hill on a clear day. Her niece, young Ellie, was stacking chairs nearby, piping up with quirky facts about the sea caves you can kayak into at low tide. “Mum says they’re haunted by smugglers,” she whispered conspiratorially. I nearly choked on my scone.

Evenings brought more gems. Strolling to the local shop for milk, I bumped into old Tom, the retired postman who’s lived here 50 years. Leaning on his stick outside the pub, he reckoned the best chips in Wales were from the takeaway round the corner – “None of that fancy nonsense!” We nattered about the village fete coming up, him insisting I enter the egg-and-spoon race. “You lot from away always trip up – gives us a laugh!”

Reflecting on it now, sat on that balcony with a brew, watching the sun dip over the bay, I realised how these chats grounded the holiday. In our rush of modern life, it’s easy to miss the warmth of proper characters – the Dais, Magses, Toms, and Ellies who turn a cottage stay into something magical. Saundersfoot’s got that in spades; we left with full bellies, fuller hearts, and a promise to return for Dai’s seal saga sequel.