I’ll never forget the drive to Bath for my three-day jaunt to Hartfield Watersedge Lodge – a right faff from the off. I’d packed the car the night before, all smug with my thermos of tea and a playlist of summery tunes, only to realise halfway down the M4 that I’d left my reading glasses behind. Proper numpty moment, squinting at the satnav like an owl in headlights, but it forced me to pull over at a services for a pair of cheapo specs from the WH Smith. Fifteen quid lighter, but hey, at least I could read the road signs without giving myself a headache.

By the time I trundled into Bath, the sun was dipping low over the honey-stoned rooftops, casting that golden glow the city does so well. Hartfield Watersedge Lodge sits just on the edge of it all, tucked away in a peaceful spot near the Kennet and Avon Canal – close enough to feel the buzz of Bath without the hordes. I followed the narrow lanes past the Roman Baths district, past Sydney Gardens with its leafy walks, and there it was: this darling little lodge, all cosy and characterful, with its stone walls and pitched roof blending into the landscape like it’d grown there. Parking was a doddle – no faffing with multi-storeys – and as I hauled my bag up the path, the host popped out with a cheery wave and a local map. “Take it easy,” she said, handing over the keys. Music to my ears.

Stepping inside was like sinking into a warm hug. The open-plan living space was pure bliss: squishy sofas piled with cushions, a wood-burning stove begging for a lazy evening crackle (though it was balmy enough for just a window breeze), and a kitchenette stocked with all the essentials – fresh milk in the fridge, tea bags aplenty, even a cheeky bottle of local cider as a welcome touch. Upstairs, the bedroom was a haven of crisp white linens and a view straight out to the garden, where birds flitted about like they owned the place. First impressions? Perfection for doing sod all, which was exactly the point of this getaway. No itinerary, no alarms – just me, a stack of paperbacks, and the joy of pottering.

That first afternoon, I didn’t go far. Unpacked, brewed a cuppa, and flopped into the garden with Jonathan Coe’s latest. The space is a riot of cottage-garden charm – lavender buzzing with bees, a hammock swaying gently under the apple tree, and those canal views just beyond the fence. I must’ve nodded off for an hour, waking to the distant chime of Bath Abbey’s bells. Blissful. No rush to hit the sights; instead, a slow amble along the canal towpath, waving at narrowboat folk chugging by. It’s only a ten-minute wander to the heart of Bath, past gorgeous Georgian terraces, but I turned back early, content with the ripple of water and the odd duck quacking for crumbs.

Evening rolled in soft and golden. I rustled up pasta in the kitchen – nothing fancy, just shop-bought pesto from the nearby Sainsbury’s Local – and ate it on the patio as the sky turned pink. Lit a few fairy lights (already strung up, thank goodness), cracked open that cider, and let the world slow right down. No scrolling, no plans for tomorrow. Just the lodge’s quiet magic wrapping around me.

Looking back on that arrival, it hit me – we’re all rushing about like blue-arsed flies, aren’t we? I’d come to Bath for the history and the fizz, but Hartfield Watersedge Lodge reminded me the real treat is switching off. Three days of this lazy loveliness? Can’t wait for the next nothing-much holiday.