I’ll never forget the drive down to The Willows in Somerset – a proper faff from the off. We’d piled into the car from Bristol, me, the missus, and our two lads, aged eight and ten, buzzing with the promise of a three-day lodge break at Strawberryfield Park near Cheddar. About halfway there, just past Weston-super-Mare, I took a wrong turn onto some narrow B-road, and splat – we hit a massive pothole that sent our picnic hamper flying. Crisps everywhere, elder son howling that his iPad had launched into the footwell. “Dad, you’ve ruined the holiday!” he wailed. I laughed it off with a cheery “Welcome to the British countryside, mate – it’s character-building!” Twenty minutes later, we were back on track, munching slightly squished sandwiches and belting out old Oasis tunes to salvage the mood.

Pulling into Strawberryfield Park just before teatime felt like slipping into a hug. The Willows is one of those hot tub lodges tucked into the edge of the site, all wood cladding and pitched roof, overlooking open fields with cows mooching about in the distance. Cheddar’s right on the doorstep – you could practically smell the cheese from the car park. We unloaded in a whirlwind of chaos: suitcases tumbling, the dog lead tangled round the youngest’s legs, and me wrestling with a wonky trolley that kept veering left like it had a vendetta. First impressions? Blissfully unpretentious. No grand hotel lobby, just a quick check-in at the park office where the chap handed over keys with a grin and a “Enjoy the tubs, folks – they’re proper hot after dark.”

Stepping inside The Willows was pure lodge life magic. It’s compact but cosy as owt – open-plan living with a squishy L-shaped sofa begging for Netflix binges, a kitchenette kitted out with all the essentials (kettle on immediate standby for a proper cuppa), and a dining table already scattered with board games for the kids. The bedrooms are snug: ours had a kingsize bed piled high with duck-down duvets, while the lads claimed the twin room with its cheeky bunk bed that creaked like an old ship. Best bit? That private hot tub on the decking, steaming away under a pergola, with fairy lights twinkling as dusk fell. We cracked open a bottle of local Somerset cider – scrumpy from a farm shop five minutes up the road – and the lads splashed about in the shallow end while we sank in up to our necks. “This is living,” I sighed, watching steam curl into the cool evening air.

First morning dawned misty over the Mendips, and we embraced the simple pleasures straight away. Breakfast was a lazy affair: bacon butties sizzling on the hob, toast popped from the compact toaster, all wolfed down with views of strawberry fields (hence the park name, I reckon). The chaos kicked in when the youngest discovered the lodge’s DVD collection – Wallace and Gromit marathons ensued, with popcorn kernels ending up in every crevice. We ambled out for a gentle explore, just a short stroll to the park’s play area where the boys burned off energy on swings while we parents nursed coffees. Cheddar Reservoir’s a hop away by car – we nipped over for a breezy walk along the shore, spotting buzzards wheeling overhead and wildflowers nodding in the breeze. Nothing strenuous, mind – it’s all about that relaxed family rhythm, dodging puddles and sharing daft jokes.

Sitting there on the deck that first afternoon, hot tub bubbling idly, I had a quiet moment of reflection. Life back home’s a non-stop whirl of school runs and deadlines, but here at The Willows, time slowed right down. Watching the lads chase each other round the lodge, faces flushed with fresh air, I thought how these unhurried spots recharge the soul. A bit of pothole pandemonium and tub-side lounging – that’s the stuff memories are made of. Somerset’s got it spot on for a family unwind.