I finally made it to Dymock Spa near Blakeney after a faff with the sat-nav that had me looping round the Forest of Dean like a lost puppy. We'd set off from home early, me, the wife, and our two lads, packed into the car with enough snacks to feed a small army. But about ten miles out, the bloody thing decided to throw a wobbly, directing us down a muddy farm track that wasn't even on the map. Cue much swearing under my breath and the kids chanting "Are we there yet?" from the back seat. A quick phone-a-friend with the host sorted it, and 20 minutes later, we were trundling up that winding lane to the spa lodge, hearts sinking a bit at the state of our tyres but laughing about it already.

Pulling up to Dymock Spa was like stumbling into a proper little hideaway. Tucked away in the Dymock woods, just a stone's throw from Blakeney village, it's one of those cosy lodges that screams "relax, you've earned this". The place is all wood and glass, with a private hot tub bubbling away on the deck like it was waiting just for us. First impressions? Blissful. We tumbled out of the car, stretching our legs, and the air hit us – that fresh, piney Forest of Dean scent mixed with a hint of woodsmoke from somewhere nearby. The lads immediately legged it to the garden, whooping at the sight of the hot tub, while I lugged the bags in, pretending I wasn't knackered from the drive.

Stepping inside felt like a warm hug. The open-plan living space is spot on for a family like ours – squishy sofas piled with cushions, a telly bigger than our one at home, and a kitchen kitted out with everything you'd need for lazy fry-ups. We dumped our stuff and cracked open the welcome fizz (nice touch, that), toasting to no more sat-nav nonsense. The bedrooms were a treat too – ours had a massive bed with views straight into the trees, and the boys' room came with bunks that had them bouncing like kangaroos before we'd even unpacked. Light streamed in through the big windows, making the whole place feel alive and airy, not stuffy like some holiday lets.

First order of business: hot tub time. We cranked it up, and while it heated, we mooched about the deck, spotting squirrels darting through the undergrowth. The chaos kicked in quick – little one splashed straight in fully clothed, drenching his brother who retaliated with a soggy towel whip. I joined in, slipping on the wet step and ending up arse-over-tit in the shallow end. Proper lodge life, that – all giggles and no one hurt, just the kind of daft mishap that makes you forget the daily grind. Sat there bubbling away as the sun dipped, sipping tea from the provided mugs, I had one of those quiet moments. You know, watching the family muck about, steam rising around us, thinking how these simple bits – no schedules, no screens (well, mostly) – are what recharge the batteries. Work's been mad lately, and here we were, miles from nowhere, just being.

That evening, we wandered the short path into Blakeney for a pint and pie at the local – nothing fancy, just proper pub grub with chips fat enough to dip in gravy. Back at the lodge, we lit the fire pit (easy as pie, matches provided), roasted marshmallows till they were gooey disasters, and sprawled out under the stars. No light pollution here; the sky was pinpricked with more constellations than I'd seen in years. The spa bit? We saved the sauna for morning, but already it felt like luxury on tap. First impressions of Dymock Spa? It's got that magic – relaxed, ramshackle family fun wrapped in woodland peace. Can't wait to see what the next days bring, but blimey, what a cracking start.