I’ll never forget the drive to Braeburn Tall Trees near Glastonbury – a proper Somerset jaunt that started with a daft little mishap. I’d packed the car the night before, chucked in my walking boots and a flask of tea, dreaming of those rolling Mendip hills. But halfway down the M5, just past Bristol, I realised I’d left my phone charger at home. No biggie, I thought, I’ll pick one up in Taunton. Except every shop was shut by the time I got there, so I arrived at the cottage with a phone on 5% battery, feeling like a right numpty. Still, the sat-nav held out just long enough to guide me down those narrow lanes fringed with hedgerows, past stone farmhouses and the odd sheep giving me the side-eye.

Pulling up to Braeburn Tall Trees around teatime on Friday, I was gobsmacked. Tucked away in a quiet spot just outside Glastonbury, it’s one of those proper cosy cottages – all honey-coloured stone, with a thatched roof that screams Somerset idyll. The tall trees in the garden rustled welcomingly, and there was a cheeky robin hopping about as if to say, “You’ve made it, mate.” I unloaded my bags, brewed a cuppa in the snug kitchen, and stepped out to breathe in that fresh country air. First impressions? Bliss. The place felt like a hug from an old friend – wooden beams inside, a wood burner ready for cosier evenings, and views over fields that stretched towards the Tor, that iconic Glastonbury hill poking up like a wizard’s hat in the distance.

Saturday morning dawned bright and breezy, perfect for my first hike. I laced up my boots and headed out for a gentle yomp up to the Chalice Well gardens, barely a mile away – a classic Somerset stroll through lush meadows dotted with buttercups. The weather was cracking: blue skies, a bit of nip in the air, and that golden light that makes everything look like a postcard. I wandered the winding paths, past ancient yews and the famous red spring, feeling all zen-like. No crowds, just me, the birdsong, and the faint hum of Glastonbury’s mystical vibe. Lunch was a pork pie from the farm shop en route back – proper job, that.

But oh, British weather, you capricious beast. By afternoon, the clouds rolled in thick as clotted cream, and the heavens opened. My plan for a longer trek up Wearyall Hill – that legendary spot with the Glastonbury Thorn – turned into a soggy dash for cover. I legged it back to Braeburn, laughing at myself as rainwater streamed off my hood. Inside, I lit the wood burner, toes warming by the flames, and reflected on how I’m always chasing the perfect day out. Truth is, those dashed plans make the best stories – a reminder to slow down and savour the unexpected, innit? The cottage wrapped me in its warmth, with its comfy sofa and a window seat perfect for watching the rain patter on the leaves.

Sunday brought a turnaround – misty but dry, with patches of sun breaking through. Emboldened, I tackled a loop around the Tor itself, climbing that steep path through bracken and gorse, the wind whipping my cheeks. At the top, St Michael’s Tower stood sentinel, offering 360-degree views over Somerset’s patchwork: the levels gleaming wetly, Glastonbury Abbey ruins just visible below. It was magical, that hike – legs burning, lungs full of hill air, a profound quiet settling in. Back at the cottage by early afternoon, I pottered in the garden, spotting buzzards wheeling overhead, before packing up with a full heart.

Those three days at Braeburn Tall Trees were a masterclass in Somerset’s walking wonders and weather whims. First impressions sealed it: this is my go-to spot for when life needs a reset. If you fancy ditching the grind for hikes, mishaps, and a bit of introspection, get yourself there. You won’t regret it.