I’ll never forget the drive down to Porthcawl last month – me at the wheel of our old estate car, the missus navigating with that app that kept losing signal, and the kids in the back moaning about needing the loo every ten miles. We’d taken a wrong turn somewhere near Bridgend, thanks to a cheeky diversion sign that led us on a merry dance through some narrow lanes lined with sheep who looked as baffled as we were. By the time we spotted the sea glinting ahead, we were all laughing about it, though I did have a quiet moment wondering if I’d ever find my way back to civilisation.

Pulling up to this cracking first-floor apartment was pure relief – designated parking for two cars, even an EV charger if you’re that way inclined, right by the coast. We grabbed our bags, felt that brisk sea breeze whipping in from the beach just a short stroll away, and headed up via the lift (no one was climbing those stairs after that drive). Stepping into the hallway, with the washing machine and tumble dryer already winking hello, it felt like home straight away. The place had this effortless coastal vibe, and those spectacular sea views from the balcony? Magic. We cracked open a few tins, set the kids loose on the pool table, and just soaked it in. First impressions? Spot on.

But the real joy came from ditching the usual tourist traps and stumbling on hidden gems by pure accident – that’s how we roll on holiday. First morning, instead of heading straight to the main promenade, we wandered off down a side path near the dunes, away from the donkey rides and ice cream vans. Ended up at this tucked-away cove called Pink Bay, where the rocks form these weird, wave-sculpted patterns you’d miss if you stuck to the paths. The kids were in their element poking about in rock pools, spotting tiny crabs that scuttled like they owned the place. Felt like we’d gatecrashed a secret beach party.

Later that day, we got properly lost on a walk towards Rest Bay – took a wrong fork and found ourselves on a cliff-top trail that snaked into a wilder stretch of coastline. No crowds, just gulls wheeling overhead and the waves crashing below. We picnicked on pasties from a nondescript bakery we’d spotted en route (proper job, flaky pastry and all), watching seals bob about in the distance. Pure bliss, that off-the-beaten-track vibe.

One evening, after a daft pool table tournament where I got thrashed by my own son (note to self: practise more), we ventured out again, aiming for the town but veering off towards Lock’s Common. It’s this unassuming grassy headland, but stumble upon it at dusk and you’ve got panoramic views over the Bristol Channel without another soul in sight. We watched the sun dip, painting the sea all fiery, and I had one of those gentle reflective moments – you know, realising how daft it is rushing about back home when there’s this right on our doorstep.

The whole trip was like that: serendipitous detours revealing Porthcawl’s quieter corners, from forgotten rock shelves alive with anemones to hidden viewpoints that felt like our private discovery. No grand plans, just happy accidents. Can’t wait to go back and lose ourselves all over again.