I finally made it to Enniskillen after a drive that was mostly scenic, bar one daft mishap – I took a wrong turn just outside town and ended up circling a roundabout three times, much to the amusement of a couple of locals in a battered Land Rover who gave me a cheery wave. Typical me, overthinking the satnav. But honestly, it was the perfect icebreaker for what turned out to be a cracking three-day family jaunt at No 6, this cosy little semi-detached lodge tucked away in a quiet spot on the edge of Enniskillen. We'd booked it for a proper chilled-out break, just us lot – me, the wife, our two lads (ages 10 and 7) – seeking those simple pleasures away from the daily grind.

Pulling up late afternoon on day one, the first thing that hit me was how perfectly it captured that lodge life vibe. The place is right by the water, with Lough Erne lapping gently at the shore just beyond the garden – you could practically cast a line from the patio. It's one of those spots where the world slows down; no traffic hum, just birdsong and the odd ripple on the water. We tumbled out of the car, bags everywhere, and the boys were straight off, whooping as they dashed to the garden, kicking a football into the hedge. Chaos ensued immediately – one shoe lost in the undergrowth, the other lad declaring it his "secret base." I had a proper chuckle watching them, thinking how these are the moments you bottle up for the grey days back home.

Stepping inside, the first impressions were spot on for a family bolt-hole. It's got that warm, lived-in feel – think wooden beams, a cracking open-plan kitchen-diner with everything you need for a fry-up or pasta bash, and a wood-burning stove begging to be lit (we did, later that evening, after a rummage for kindling that nearly turned into a treasure hunt). The bedrooms are snug, with those comfy beds that make you sink right in, and the lads claimed the one with the bunk beds faster than you can say "top bunk's mine!" Downstairs loo was handy too, especially with kids who drink like camels on holiday. We dumped our stuff and cracked open the complimentary tea and biccies – proper Northern Irish hospitality, that – while I nipped out to the patio for a brew, feet up on a wonky plastic chair, taking in the view of the lough sparkling under the sun. Bliss.

That first evening set the tone for our relaxed break. We wandered just a short stroll to the nearby shore path – it's all flat and easy-going, perfect for little legs – and skimmed stones till our arms ached. The boys found a crab under a rock, which led to five minutes of "Can we keep it, Dad?" pandemonium before it scuttled off. Back at No 6, we rustled up sausages and mash in the kitchen, spilling half the peas in the process (lodge life chaos at its finest), then piled onto the sofa for a Disney flick, stove crackling away. As I sat there, nursing a cuppa and listening to the rain patter on the roof – classic Irish weather flipping on us – I had a quiet moment of reflection. Life's mad rush feels miles away here; it's the simple stuff, like this unhurried togetherness, that reminds you what's important. No grand plans, just us, the water, and a bit of joyful disorder.

Day two dawned misty over the lough, and our first impressions only deepened. A lazy breakfast of toast and beans, then off to explore on foot – Enniskillen's compact enough that you don't need wheels. We ambled into town, past buttery-yellow stone buildings and the castle looming friendly-like on the hill, grabbing ice creams from a wee parlour despite the chill (priorities). The boys loved the swings in the little park by the water, and I nicked a peaceful bench moment watching swans glide by. Back at the lodge by lunch, we fired up the BBQ – well, attempted to; the charcoal bag split, covering the patio in black dust. More laughter, more mess, but that's the charm. Afternoon was pure lodge lounging: fishing rods out (caught nowt, but the trying was half the fun), and an epic den-building session in the garden with blankets and chairs that collapsed spectacularly.

By evening, as we supped local brews (me on the non-alcoholic, designated driver and all), reflecting on the day, No 6 felt like home already. That third morning, before packing up, we squeezed in one last lakeside paddle – cold toes, soggy socks, ecstatic kids. Driving off, wrong turn forgotten, I knew we'd be back. Enniskillen's got that magic for family escapes, and No 6 nailed the first-impression charm right from the off. Proper tonic for the soul.