I finally made it to Leadon View Oak after a bit of a faff on the drive down to the Forest of Dean. I'd set off from Gloucestershire's busier bits early, aiming for that peaceful escape in Upleadon, but wouldn't you know it, I took a wrong turn near Newent and ended up looping round a muddy farm track. My little hatchback wasn't best pleased – splattered in muck and me swearing under my breath like a proper numpty. Still, it was nothing a quick wipe-down at a services couldn't sort, and by midday, I was pulling up to this cracking oak-beamed cottage, nestled in its own quiet spot with views over the Leadon Valley that made the detour worthwhile.

First impressions? Blimey, it was love at first sight. The place is proper cosy – think low ceilings, a wood-burner begging to be lit (though I didn't on day one, saving that for later), and a kitchen that screamed "get cooking, lad." I dumped my bags and headed straight for the nearest village shop in Upleadon, just a stone's throw away, to stock up. They had those fresh local pasties and a wedge of proper cheddar from a nearby dairy – none of your supermarket rubbish. I grabbed some pork sausages from a Forest butcher's stall (you can't beat Dean pork), a loaf of crusty bread, and a few bottles of that crisp Gloucestershire cider to wash it all down.

Unpacking felt like the start of something grand. I rustled up lunch on the spot: sliced the cheddar thick, slapped it on bread with pickle, and fried up a sausage or two in the cottage's sturdy pan. The Aga-style cooker was a dream – hot and reliable, though I nearly singed my eyebrows when I forgot the extractor fan. Sat at the window table with my plate, munching away, gazing at the rolling fields. The food tasted better here, miles from the rush – simple, hearty, and all local. That cider? Perfection, bubbly and sharp, straight from an orchard not five miles off.

By late afternoon, hunger struck again, so I wandered to the Horse and Groom in Upleadon, a proper local boozer with beams older than my nan. The barman greeted me like an old mate, and I plumped for their pie of the day – steak and ale, encased in flaky pastry that flaked everywhere. Sides of mushy peas and chips, all drowned in gravy thick enough to stand a spoon in. Washed down with a pint of Wye Valley ale, brewed right in the heart of the Forest. The chatter around me was pure gold: farmers moaning about the weather, locals swapping gossip. I couldn't help but chuckle when the landlady teased me about my city accent – "You from up the motorway, eh? Don't worry, you'll blend in after a few more pies."

Back at the cottage that evening, I fancied playing chef. The kitchen's well-stocked with pots and herbs from the garden patch outside – rosemary and thyme that smelled divine. I attempted a Forest feast: roasted those Dean sausages with onions from the village greengrocer, chucked in some carrots and potatoes I'd nabbed at a roadside honesty stall nearby. Seasoned it with local honey for a sticky glaze – proper Scorridge style, or so I thought. Turned out alright, if a tad overdone on one side; I blame the enthusiasm and a glass too many of that cider. Ate it by the fire I'd finally got going, the flames crackling as the sun dipped behind the oaks. Sat there, plate balanced on my knee, feeling a proper daft grin spread across my face.

It got me reflecting, mid-bite, on how daft we get chasing fancy holidays abroad when gems like this are on our doorstep. No jet lag, no language barriers – just good grub, cracking pubs, and a kitchen that turns a rubbish cook like me into something resembling a chef. That first day at Leadon View Oak wasn't about grand adventures; it was about savouring the simple joy of eating well in the best company: myself, a full belly, and the quiet hum of the Dean. Can't wait to see what meals day two brings.