I’ll never forget the drive down to West Wales last month – me behind the wheel of our battered old estate car, sat-nav confidently directing us along the M4, only for it to conk out just as we hit the twisty lanes near Swansea. Cue mild panic as we veered off-course, arguing over a crumpled Ordnance Survey map while the kids in the back chanted “Are we there yet?” like a bad boy band. A wrong turn down a narrow hedge-lined track had us proper lost, but honestly, that little mishap turned out to be the best bit of the trip.

Finally stumbling into Mumbles, hearts lifting at the first glimpse of the sea sparkling beyond the bay, we pulled up to this cracking first-floor flat – a proper stylish pad for the six of us, all sleek modern vibes and those jaw-dropping sea views that make you go “pinch me”. From the off, it felt like home: comfy sofas for sprawling, a kitchen kitted out just right, and that balcony where we’d sip tea watching the waves roll in. I was buzzing with anticipation, imagining lazy beach days, but it was the accidental discoveries that stole the show.

First morning, fancying a stroll before breakfast, we wandered off the main drag down a sneaky path by Bracelet Bay – not the touristy bit everyone flocks to, but a hidden cove we tripped over by chance. Tucked away behind some scrubby dunes, it was blissfully empty bar a couple of seals bobbing about. We spent hours poking rock pools, the kids shrieking with delight at tiny crabs scuttling off. Proper magic, that – far from the coach-party crowds up the road.

Later, getting “lost” again (my defence mechanism for aimless wandering), we ended up on a footpath snaking along the cliffs towards Langland Bay’s quieter end. No signs, just gorse bushes and gulls, leading to this secret pebble beach where the water’s this unreal turquoise. We picnicked there with pasties from a wee bakery we’d spotted en route, waves lapping at our toes. I had a proper moment then, sat on a driftwood log, thinking how daft it is we always chase the big Instagram spots when these off-piste gems are right under our noses. Me, the eternal planner, finally clocking that getting lost is the real win.

Evenings were for ambling back through Mumbles’ back lanes – we stumbled on a tucked-away ice cream parlour doing the creamiest 99s, hidden behind a row of fisherman’s cottages. No queues, just locals nattering. One night, we chanced on a coastal path detour that looped us to a viewpoint over the Gower’s wild edge, sun dipping low, turning the sea to gold. Laughing about our sat-nav fail over fish and chips from a hole-in-the-wall spot, it hit me: this flat wasn’t just a base, it was the launchpad for serendipity.

Back home now, I’m already plotting the next “mishap”. West Wales has a way of turning wrong turns into the best stories – if you let it.