I’ll never forget the drive to Juniper Lodge – a proper faff from the moment we left the motorway. It was a drizzly Friday afternoon in Devon, the sort where the SatNav insists on taking you down every winding lane in Torridge District. My mate Dave and I had piled into the car with enough snacks to feed a rugby team, dreaming of a chilled three-day escape at this lakeside lodge near Roadford Lake. But about five miles out, disaster struck: I’d forgotten to fill up the petrol tank back in Exeter. The warning light blinked on just as we hit those narrow B-road lanes near Lifton, and there we were, crawling along like a pair of lemons, praying we’d spot a garage before conking out in a hedge.

No such luck. We limped into Broadwoodwidger – or at least, what felt like the middle of nowhere – with the engine sputtering like an old man after too many pints. Dave, ever the optimist, whipped out his phone for the AA app, but signal was naff. “We’re stuffed,” he chuckled, while I reversed into a layby, nearly clipping a passing tractor. Cue ten minutes of frantic calls to the lodge owners, who kindly talked us through a detour to a tiny petrol station I swear only appears on full moons. By the time we topped up, we were laughing so hard we had tears in our eyes. “Welcome to Devon,” Dave quipped. “Where the journey’s half the holiday – the chaotic half.”

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of single-track roads flanked by lush Devon hedgerows and the odd sheep eyeing us suspiciously, we spotted the sign for Roadford Lake Lodges. Turning into the site, the chaos melted away like clotted cream on a scone. Juniper Lodge sat there, all cosy and inviting, right by the water’s edge. It’s one of those timber lodges that screams “get away from it all” – low-slung with a veranda overlooking the lake, surrounded by nothing but woodland and the gentle lap of waves. We parked up, grabbed our bags, and stepped inside, the mishap already fading into a funny story.

First impressions? Bloody brilliant. The place was spotless, with that fresh, woody scent you only get in a proper countryside retreat. The open-plan living area had a cracking wood-burning stove (we didn’t light it yet, but boy, were we tempted), squishy sofas begging for a collapse, and a kitchen kitted out with everything from cafetière to toaster – no faffing about with subpar gear here. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the lake perfectly; herons were already strutting about like they owned the place, and in the distance, you could see the faint ripple of Roadford Reservoir stretching out under the clearing skies.

We dumped our stuff and headed straight out to the veranda with mugs of tea – essential British ritual, innit? The view hit me like a warm hug. Peaceful doesn’t cover it; it was that rare moment where the world just stops. Ducks quacked lazily, a breeze rustled the trees, and the water sparkled in the late sun. Dave cracked open a couple of cold ones from the fridge (fully stocked local shop run planned for tomorrow), and we toasted our survival. “From petrol panic to paradise in under an hour,” he said. I couldn’t argue.

Sitting there, watching the light fade over the lake, I had one of those gentle reflective moments. Life back home’s a whirlwind – deadlines, traffic, the usual grind. But here, after our daft arrival kerfuffle, it felt like Juniper Lodge was whispering, “Slow down, mate. You’ve earned this.” No grand adventures needed on night one; just the simple joy of arriving somewhere that instantly felt like home. The mishap? Best icebreaker ever. Can’t wait to wake up to this tomorrow. Devon, you’ve got me hooked already.