I’ll never forget the drive to Pamela’s Meadow last month – a proper Somerset jaunt that started with me taking a wrong turn near Cheddar Gorge and ending up in a queue of caravans crawling behind a tractor. Classic me, innit? We were meant to be there by teatime for our three-day family break, but instead, my wife Sarah was sighing dramatically while the kids, Ellie (8) and Tom (5), chanted “Are we there yet?” from the back seat. An insignificant mishap, really – just 20 minutes lost to a farmer’s hay delivery – but it set the tone for the kind of relaxed chaos that makes lodge life so brilliant.

Finally rolling into Strawberryfield Park just as the sun dipped behind the Mendip Hills, I felt that proper holiday buzz kick in. Pamela’s Meadow is one of those cracking little holiday lodges tucked away in the park, right on the edge of Cheddar village. It’s glamping without the pretension: a cosy wooden haven with a veranda overlooking wildflower meadows that stretch out like a patchwork quilt. We parked up on the gravel pitch – crunching tyres and all – and unloaded our mountain of wellies and picnic bits. The first impression? Pure bliss. No traffic hum, just birdsong and the faint low of cows from a nearby field. Somerset does that to you – wraps you in its green embrace before you’ve even unpacked.

Stepping inside was like stumbling into a hug from an old mate. The open-plan living space smelled of fresh pine and had that just-right lived-in feel: squishy sofas in front of a wood-burning stove (we didn’t light it, mind, with the balmy August weather), a telly for rainy days, and a kitchenette stocked with everything from cafetière to chopping boards. Ellie immediately claimed the bunk beds in the twin room, squealing about the ladder, while Tom flopped onto the double bed in our room, declaring it “bigger than our house!” Sarah and I exchanged a grin – first impressions ticking all the boxes for family lodge perfection.

We cracked open a bottle of local cider (Cheddar Valley’s got some gems) on the veranda as the kids tore about the play area just yards away. It’s one of those spots where the park’s facilities blend seamlessly into the stay – swings, a slide, and a bit of open grass for football. Watching them chase each other under the golden hour light, with the silhouette of the Gorge looming a mile off, I had one of those gentle moments of self-reflection. Life back home in Bristol is non-stop: school runs, deadlines, the grind. Here, at Pamela’s Meadow, it was like pressing pause. Simple pleasures – a shared laugh over Tom’s muddy knees, Sarah’s hand in mine – reminded me why we do these breaks. Not for grand adventures, but for this quiet recharge.

That first evening, we wandered a short stroll to the park’s on-site shop for essentials: bread, cheese from the local dairy, and ice creams that dripped faster than the kids could lick. Back at the lodge, we rustled up jacket spuds on the barbecue – nothing fancy, just smoky potatoes stuffed with butter and that tangy Somerset cheddar. Chaos ensued when Tom knocked over the tongs, sending coals scattering like fireworks, but we just laughed it off with s’mallows toasted over the embers. Sat there under a blanket of stars (Somerset’s night skies are unreal, away from city lights), first impressions solidified: Pamela’s Meadow isn’t about luxury; it’s about lodge life’s little messes and joys.

By bedtime, with the kids conked out and the Mendips whispering goodnight, I knew we’d nailed it. Arrival had been a faff, sure, but those initial hours? Magic. If you’re after a family bolt-hole in Somerset’s heart, this is your spot – pure, unhurried simple pleasures. Can’t wait to go back.