I’ll never forget the drive down to St Davids – or rather, the comedy of errors that got us there. We’d piled into the car in Cardiff, kids buzzing with excitement, me navigating via a dodgy phone signal, and my other half at the wheel. About halfway, just past Fishguard, we took a wrong turn onto some narrow lane that looked promising on the map but turned out to be a sheep-lined single track. Cue a 20-minute reversal with a farmer’s pickup bearing down on us, grinning like it was the highlight of his day. “Welcome to Wales,” he chuckled as we squeezed past. By the time we arrived at our holiday cottage near St Justinians, we were late, frazzled, and starving – but honestly, that first glimpse made it all worthwhile. Tucked on a working farm right by the coast, this cosy spot for our family had these lovely private and shared gardens spilling out onto a massive playing field, and the sea just a short stroll away. The air was crisp, the views over Pembrokeshire’s cliffs were stunning, and I could already picture lazy evenings there.

We hadn’t planned much – our vibe was all about ditching the guidebook and letting serendipity lead. First morning, after a fry-up in the cottage kitchen, we wandered down to St Justinians beach. It’s a stunner, all rugged pebbles and Atlantic waves, but instead of joining the boat-trippers to Ramsey Island, we veered off along the coastal path, figuring we’d loop back. Big mistake – or best one ever. The path fizzled out into gorse bushes, and soon we were scrambling down a hidden cove that wasn’t on any app. White sand, turquoise water lapping at our toes, and not a soul in sight. The kids declared it their secret pirate bay, building dens from driftwood while we picnicked on cheese rolls. Pure magic, that off-the-beaten-track bliss you only find by getting properly lost.

Next day, aiming for the city’s cathedral – Britain’s smallest, don’t you know – we parked up and ambled through St Davids’ lanes. But a “shortcut” through the fields (my idea, naturally) led us astray again, tumbling out at a tucked-away spot by the River Alun. There was this ancient holy well, half-hidden by ferns, with whispers of Celtic saints and healing waters. We dipped our fingers in, made silly wishes, and laughed about how I always manage to turn a five-minute walk into an expedition. It sparked a bit of reflection for me, actually – amid the holiday chaos, these accidental detours remind you life’s not about ticking boxes, but those quiet, unexpected joys that stick with you.

Afternoons were for the farm’s playing field – football with the little ones, then more rambles. One evening, we stumbled on a smugglers’ path behind the cottage, winding to a forgotten headland with seals barking below. No crowds, just us and the sunset painting the sea gold. Even a rainy spell couldn’t dampen it; we hunkered in the garden gazebo, playing cards and watching puffins bob offshore. St Davids Peninsula is riddled with these hidden gems if you stray off piste – tiny beaches like Caerfai’s quieter corners, or wildflower meadows buzzing with bees. We left knackered but buzzing, already plotting a return. If you fancy proper Pembrokeshire without the hordes, get lost here. You won’t regret it.