I finally made it to Dorset after a bit of a faff on the journey down from London. The sat-nav decided to play silly buggers just outside Dorchester, directing me onto a narrow lane that turned out to be more pothole than path, and I ended up with a muddy splatter up the side of my car that looked like I'd been mudlarking in the Thames. Still, nothing a quick hose-down at the Superior 2 cottage's parking spot couldn't sort, and by early afternoon, I was pulling up to this cracking little place, bags in hand, ready for three days of proper chill.

First impressions? Blimey, it was spot on. Tucked away in a peaceful spot just a short hop from Dorchester centre, Superior 2 is one of those superior cottages that feels like a hug from an old mate – cosy, well-kitted-out, and with a lovely decking area begging for a cuppa in the sun. But let's be honest, the real star here is the kitchen, gleaming and begging to be put through its paces. I dumped my stuff and immediately raided the fridge for the essentials I'd picked up en route: a slab of local Dorset cheddar, some plump tomatoes from a farm stall near the A35, and a bottle of that cheeky West Country cider to tide me over.

No sooner had I unpacked than hunger hit like a Jurassic wave. Dorchester's got this brilliant little market on Wednesdays and Saturdays, but I timed my arrival perfectly for a wander around South Street, where the stalls were heaving with fresh produce. I nabbed a couple of crab claws from a Lyme Bay fisherman – proper fresh, straight off the boat that morning – and some crusty sourdough from the bakery tent. Back at the cottage, I fancied myself a bit of a chef, cracking open those claws with a mallet from the drawer (they even provide the tools, bless 'em). Paired it with the cheddar melted over the tomatoes in a makeshift rarebit. It was messy, delicious, and only slightly marred by me splattering butter everywhere – a nod to my earlier car mishap, really. Sat out on the decking with the cider, watching the sun dip over the fields, I thought, yeah, this is the life.

Evening called for a pub crawl, Dorset-style. The first night, I ambled over to The Kings Arms, just a ten-minute stroll away in the town centre. Proper proper pub, with beams low enough to duck and a roaring fire. I went for the pie – steak and ale, naturally, with mash that was fluffier than my nan's meringues. Washed down with a pint of Palmers, that golden IPA brewed right there in Bridport. Chatted with a couple of locals about the best spots for Blue Vinny cheese (turns out the market's the go-to), and stumbled back to Superior 2 feeling like I'd won the lottery. The cottage's lounge was perfect for flopping down with a nightcap, feet up on the squishy sofa.

Day two kicked off with a cooked brekkie attempt in the well-stocked kitchen – bacon from the butcher's stall (thick rashers, none of your flimsy stuff), eggs from free-range hens nearby, and mushrooms foraged in spirit from the veg man. I overdid the fried bread a tad, ending up with something resembling a greasy frisbee, which had me chuckling at my own incompetence. Self-reflection moment: why do I always bite off more than I can chew (pun intended) on these trips? Still, it fuelled a mooch to The Old Ship, another gem of a pub in Poundbury just up the road. Lunch was smoked mackerel pâté on toast, sourced from the morning market run – creamy, smoky heaven with a side of pickled veg that zinged.

By supper, I'd graduated to a full-on cottage feast: local sausages grilled on the hob, mash whipped up with cream from the dairy stall, and a crumble made from those tomatoes and apples I'd grabbed. Paired it with a bottle of red from the offie nearby. Eating al fresco on the decking, with the Dorset air thick with that earthy promise, I realised this stay at Superior 2 wasn't just about the digs – it was a love letter to fuelling up on the best of local grub, mishaps and all. Can't wait to go back for seconds.