I’ll never forget the drive down to Otter’s View Lodge in Somerset – a proper British road trip faff that started with me forgetting to fill up the car in Bridgwater. Picture this: me, the wife, and our two lads, aged eight and ten, piling into the old estate with a boot full of crisps, wellies, and enough board games to sink a ship. We’re humming along the A39, past those lush Quantock fringes just a few miles off, when the fuel light pings on like a cheeky warning. “Dad, are we walking now?” pipes up little Jack from the back, already plotting mutiny with his brother. Cue an emergency stop at a petrol station right on the edge of Sedgemoor, where I spill half a latte down my shirt while juggling the pump. Classic me – turning a 20-minute scoot to the lodge into a full-blown comedy sketch. But hey, it set the tone for a gloriously chaotic family break.

By the time we trundled up the lane to Otter’s View, the sun was dipping low over the Somerset Levels, painting everything in that golden, muddy glow you only get round here. The lodge itself? Tucked away in a quiet spot near Bridgwater, it’s one of those cosy little numbers that screams “proper getaway” – a smart shepherd’s hut vibe with a veranda that practically begs for cups of tea. We parked up on the gravel, wheels crunching like we were starring in our own countryside drama, and there it was: Otter’s View, all compact charm with its wood-clad exterior and those massive windows framing the wild bits beyond. First impressions? Bloody brilliant. It felt like stepping into a hug from an old mate – intimate, unpretentious, and just the right size for us lot without feeling cramped.

We bundled in, bags flying everywhere, and the lads immediately claimed the living area as base camp. It’s open-plan genius: a snug kitchen with all the mod cons (hello, Nespresso machine – my hero), a dining nook piled with board games, and a lounge with a telly that somehow picks up every channel despite being in the sticks. The bedrooms? Two doubles up a few steps, kitted out with crisp white duvets and those little touches like fluffy towels that make you think, “Yeah, this is holiday mode.” Ours overlooked the garden, which backs onto a ripple of water meadows – otters or no otters (fingers crossed), it’s pure Somerset magic. I flopped on the sofa, latte stain still fresh, and thought, “This is it. No schedules, no emails, just us and whatever chaos ensues.”

That first evening was peak lodge life. Sarah rustled up pasta in the galley kitchen while I wrestled with the BBQ on the veranda – Somerset’s damp air turning the coals into a smoky protest. The boys dashed about the garden, poking at puddles and inventing some game involving sticks and imaginary badgers. Light chaos, innit? One minute Jack’s declaring himself “King of the Levels,” the next he’s face-planting into a flowerbed chasing a butterfly. We laughed till our sides hurt, plates balanced on knees as the sky bruised purple. Sat there with a pint from the local Co-op (none of your fancy craft nonsense, just proper cold lager), I had one of those quiet moments – you know, the self-reflective bit where you clock how fast they’re growing. Here we were, miles from the daily grind, soaking up these simple joys: the hush of the water nearby, the whiff of damp earth, the way the lodge wrapped us in its bubble. Why do we ever leave this behind?

First impressions sealed it – Otter’s View Lodge is family holiday heaven, all relaxed vibes and pint-sized pandemonium. If you’re after unplugging in Somerset style, without straying far from Bridgwater’s easy reach, this is your spot. We hadn’t even unpacked properly, and already I was plotting a return. Cheers to that.