I’d just about had it with the satnav’s cheeky voice directing me down what felt like a sheep track when I finally spotted the sign for Oak Place (Partial Lake View). It was day one of my three-day jaunt to Shropshire, and I’d set off from Shrewsbury full of beans, only for a daft little mishap to turn the journey into a comedy of errors. I’d popped into a petrol station for a pasty – classic British road trip fuel – and somehow managed to spill half the gravy down my shirt. Looked like I’d been in a food fight, but no bother; it was the perfect icebreaker for whatever lay ahead. Fifteen minutes later, after navigating those narrow lanes lined with hedgerows bursting with blackberries, I pulled up to this cosy stone cottage tucked away on the edge of town, its partial lake view peeking through the trees like a shy secret.

First impressions? Blimey, it was love at first sight. Oak Place isn’t some glossy show home; it’s the sort of place that wraps you up like a favourite jumper – all exposed beams, a crackling wood burner (already lit, bless the hosts), and that window framing a sliver of the serene lake just beyond the garden. I dumped my bags, brewed a proper cuppa, and flopped into the squishy armchair, gravy stain and all. The air smelled of damp earth and woodsmoke, proper Shropshire magic. But I wasn’t here to veg out just yet; with the afternoon stretching ahead, I fancied a wander, no map, no plan. That’s the joy of these off-the-beaten-track spots – they beg you to get lost.

Wandering out from the cottage, I followed a faint footpath that snaked away from the main road, past a cluster of wonky farm buildings that looked like they’d starred in a Tolkien film. Shropshire’s got this knack for hiding gems in plain sight, and sure enough, ten minutes in, I stumbled on a wildflower meadow I’d never heard of, right by the lake’s quieter shore. It wasn’t signposted, no tourist tat – just a riot of purple knapweed and yellow ragwort buzzing with hoverflies, the water lapping gently like it was whispering gossip. I sat on a fallen log, feet dangling towards the ripples, and watched a heron stalk fish with comical dignity. Who needs Instagram when you’ve got this?

Emboldened, I pushed on, veering left at a gap in the hedge that looked promising. Turned out to be a hidden orchard, ancient apple trees heavy with fruit that the birds hadn’t quite claimed yet. Plucked a windfall – tart as a lemon, but free foraging’s half the fun. No one around, just me, the bees, and the faint chime of a distant church bell. It struck me then, munching that apple, how daft it is back home in the city, rushing about with checklists. Here, at Oak Place, getting lost felt like the point. A gentle nudge from the universe: slow down, you numpty.

As the sun dipped, painting the lake gold, I looped back via another accidental find – a secluded picnic spot under weeping willows, complete with a rickety bench carved with initials from lovers long gone. Perfect for tomorrow’s sarnies. Back at the cottage, I rustled up beans on toast, the view glowing through the window. First day done, and already Shropshire had delivered pure, unscripted bliss. Can’t wait to lose myself again.