I’ll never forget the drive down to West Wales – we piled into the car in Cardiff, kids buzzing in the back with snacks flying everywhere, and me navigating via a dodgy phone signal. About halfway, just past Swansea, we hit a classic Welsh downpour that turned the M4 into a sloshy nightmare. The windscreen wipers were working overtime, and I swear we hydroplaned once or twice, hearts in mouths. But as we veered off towards Llangennech, the rain eased, the sun peeked out, and suddenly there it was: this tucked-away three-bedroom holiday home on the edge of the village, looking every bit the cosy haven we’d been dreaming of. First impressions? Spot on. Off-road parking for our three cars (handy with the in-laws tagging along), and that large furnished garden stretching out like an invitation to flop.

We unpacked in a flurry, the dog bounding about like he’d claimed the place already, and stepped into these well-appointed living areas that just screamed ‘relax’. The kitchen was a dream for lazy self-catering – everything you need to whip up a simple pasta or fry up some local sausages without faffing about. But honestly, who needs grand meals when the real joy was kicking back in the living/dining room? We’d scoff dinner at the table, then sprawl on the sofas with a film flickering on the telly, plotting precisely nothing for the next day.

That’s the magic of it, isn’t it? We’d chosen this spot precisely to do bugger all – or as close as you can get with two lively kids and a spaniel who thinks fetch is an Olympic sport. Mornings started slow: brekkie in the garden if the weather played ball, me with a coffee and a dog-eared paperback, watching the world go by. The garden’s massive, with loungers and a table that became our unofficial HQ. We’d lounge there for hours, the kids pottering with a ball or drawing chalk pictures on the patio, while I pretended to read but mostly just dozed, lulled by birdsong and the distant hum of village life. One afternoon, I caught myself staring at a butterfly for a good ten minutes – proper mindfulness without the yoga mat.

Llangennech being so close to shops and a couple of cracking pubs meant nipping out for milk or a pint was dead easy, but we barely bothered. Days blurred into this blissful rhythm: lazy barbecues where the highlight was charring bangers just right, board games that descended into giggles, and evenings with the windows open, letting in that fresh Welsh air. I had this gentle moment of self-reflection one sunset, sprawled in a chair with a cider in hand, thinking how daft it is that we rush about life when slowing down like this feels so blooming good. No epic hikes or tourist traps – just us, the garden, and the art of proper unwinding. The dog approved too, snoring in the sun.

By the end of the week, we’d recharged proper. Driving home, rain forgotten, I was already plotting our return. If you fancy a holiday that’s all about savouring the simple stuff, this is your spot. Pure, unadulterated chill.