I’ll never forget the drive to 14 Westgate in Burnham Market – a proper Norfolk jaunt that started with me taking a wrong turn just outside Fakenham, thanks to my sat-nav deciding to have a mid-journey sulk. Instead of the straightforward A149 route, I ended up on some narrow lane that felt more like a sheep track, dodging a combine harvester the size of a small house. Classic me, turning a 45-minute trip into an hour-long comedy of errors, but honestly, it set the tone for the whole three days: stumbling upon Norfolk’s hidden gems purely by accident.

Pulling up to 14 Westgate late afternoon on that first day, I was knackered but buzzing. This gorgeous stone cottage sits right in the heart of Burnham Market, one of those postcard-pretty Georgian villages that Norfolk does so well. The front door creaks open to a cosy sitting room with a wood burner begging to be lit, low beams that make you duck if you’re daft like me, and a kitchen that’s all Scandi-chic with a Rayburn that could double as a time machine back to the 1950s. I dumped my bags, cracked open a tin of Norfolk Black ale from a local microbrewery I’d spotted en route (Hoste Arms, I think – divine), and just soaked it in. First impressions? Pure bliss. It’s the sort of place that whispers “relax” before you’ve even kicked off your wellies.

But the real magic kicked off when I decided to wander, no map, no plan – just letting my feet lead the way. Burnham Market’s high street is charming enough with its deli and bookshop, but I veered off down a side path behind the church, purely because a cheeky robin seemed to beckon me. Five minutes later, I’d found myself in a secret pocket of the village: a wildflower meadow tucked away off Chapel Lane, where the grass was dotted with butterflies and not a soul in sight. It’s not on any tourist radar – probably because it’s basically someone’s back garden gone feral – but sitting there on a weathered bench, watching the reeds sway in the breeze, I felt like I’d gatecrashed paradise. Norfolk’s like that; get two streets off the beaten path, and you’re in your own private idyll.

Hunger drove the next accidental discovery. Instead of heading straight to a pub, I took a “shortcut” through some allotments – lost again, naturally – and stumbled onto the edge of Burnham Deepdale, just a couple of miles up the coast path. There’s this unassuming farm shop hidden down a farm track, Brancaster Brewery’s outpost or something similar, flogging fresh crab from the Ouse Creek boats and cheeses that smell like they’ve been aged in a hayloft. I grabbed a ploughman’s picnic and plonked down by a tidal creek that nobody’s bothered to name. The water laps lazily, waders pick at the mudflats, and the light turns everything golden. Who needs fancy restaurants when you’ve got this? I chuckled to myself, thinking how my mates back in London would be queuing for overpriced avocado toast while I’m munching crab claws in splendid isolation.

That evening, back at the cottage, I fired up the Rayburn for a solo supper of local sausages and proper mustard mash. As the sun dipped behind the flint cottages, casting long shadows down Westgate, I had one of those gentle moments of reflection. Life in the city’s a treadmill, innit? Always chasing the next thing. But here, getting gloriously lost had unearthed these off-the-beaten-track treasures – the meadow, the creek, the quiet thrill of unscripted discovery. It made me realise how much richer a holiday feels when you ditch the itinerary and just let Norfolk work its slow magic. First impressions of 14 Westgate? It’s not just a stay; it’s a portal to the county’s best-kept secrets. Can’t wait to get lost there again.