I’ll never forget the drive down to Porthcawl last month – me behind the wheel of our trusty old estate car, sat-nav chirping away like it knew best, and the missus navigating with a map app that decided to throw a wobbly just as we hit the M4. We ended up taking a detour through some winding back lanes near Bridgend, convinced we’d never make it before dark. A classic me moment: I’d packed too many snacks, so we were munching pork scratchings while arguing over the pronunciation of “Porthcawl”. But honestly, that little mishap was a blessing – it got us off the main roads early and set the tone for the whole trip.

Pulling up to our second-floor apartment in this converted Victorian rest home on the edge of town felt like stumbling on a secret. Two parking spots right there waiting for us, then up two flights of those original creaky stairs – a bit of a workout after the drive, mind – into this spacious open-plan living space with jaw-dropping views over the Blue Flag beach and out to the Bristol Channel. The sea was sparkling like it was showing off just for us. First impressions? Spot on. I was buzzing already, cracking open a cold one on the balcony, imagining lazy beach days ahead.

But the real magic happened when we ditched the guidebooks and let ourselves get properly lost. Porthcawl’s got its lively bits – the Grand Pavilion with its old-school shows, or a fish and chips on the front – but we were after the hidden corners you only find by accident. First morning, instead of heading straight to the beach, we wandered off down a narrow path behind the dunes, away from the donkey rides and ice cream vans. Ended up at this tucked-away cove called Pink Bay – or was it Rest Bay? – where the cliffs drop right into the sea, and there wasn’t a soul around. Just us, some seals barking in the distance, and waves crashing like they were auditioning for a surf film. I felt a proper twit for not knowing it was there; we’d parked five minutes away the day before and missed it entirely.

That’s how the week went – joyful aimless wanders turning into gold. One afternoon, faffing about on the coastal path towards Nottage, we veered off onto a barely marked track and found this wildflower meadow hugging the edge of the cliffs, buzzing with butterflies and overlooking the channel. Picnicked there with pasties from a hole-in-the-wall bakery we’d spotted by chance in town – proper job, flaky pastry and all. Another day, getting “lost” near Newton, we stumbled on a quiet nature reserve path winding through dunes and marram grass, spotting little birds I couldn’t name but pretended to know about. Laughed our heads off when I tripped over a rabbit hole, covered in sand like a daft kid.

Staying up high with those sea views meant evenings were for reflecting – glass of wine in hand, watching the sun dip behind the lighthouse at Nash Point. Made me think how often we chase the big attractions and miss these gems right under our noses. South Wales coast’s full of ’em if you let yourself stray. We slept five easy in that apartment, cosy as anything, and left with a list of secret spots for next time. If you’re after proper escape without the crowds, get yourself down there and lose the map. You won’t regret it.