I’ll never forget the drive up to Bridgend Chalet – a proper Scottish adventure that started with me forgetting to pack the sat-nav and relying on my phone’s dodgy signal instead. We’d set off from Inverness early, the kids buzzing in the back with crisps and iPads, my wife Sarah navigating via Google Maps while I hummed along to some cracking tunes on the radio. About halfway along the A82, hugging the edge of Loch Ness, the phone decided to throw a wobbly – “Recalculating route” it chirped, just as we missed the turn for Foyers. Cue a hilarious five-minute detour down a single-track road with sheep glaring at us like we’d gatecrashed their picnic. “Dad, are we lost forever?” piped up little Ollie from the back seat. I laughed it off – “Nah, mate, this is the scenic route!” – but secretly I was sweating. Typical me, turning a 20-minute jaunt into a mini rally.

Finally, after that insignificant mishap, we trundled into the wee car park at Bridgend Chalet, right on the shores of Loch Ness, no more than a stone’s throw from Foyers village. It’s one of those Highland gems – a cosy wooden chalet plonked in a peaceful spot with views that hit you like a dram of whisky. We arrived mid-afternoon, the sun peeking through the clouds, casting that silvery light over the loch that makes you feel like you’ve stepped into a postcard. Unlocking the door with the key safe code (smoothly done, for once), we piled in, bags everywhere, and oh, the smell – fresh pine and a hint of wood burner, like the place was giving us a big Highland hug.

First impressions? Pure bliss mixed with that delightful lodge-life chaos we crave on family breaks. The open-plan living area is compact but spot-on for us lot: a squishy sofa facing floor-to-ceiling windows where the loch sparkles like it’s showing off. We dumped our stuff and straight away brewed a cuppa – Yorkshire Gold, naturally – while the kids claimed their bunk beds upstairs. “This one’s mine! No, mine!” they squabbled, tumbling over each other in that joyful mayhem that makes holidays feel alive. I peeked into the kitchen, kitted out with everything you need for lazy self-catering: a decent oven for my legendary (ahem) sausage casserole, and a fridge that hummed contentedly as we stocked it with local treats from the Foyers shop – smoked salmon, oatcakes, and Irn-Bru for the wee ones.

Stepping out the back door was the real magic. There’s a private patio with a picnic bench, overlooking the water where herons fished lazily and the odd boat chugged by. We fired up the barbecue (gas, thank goodness – no faffing with charcoal in the drizzle), grilling burgers as the sun dipped low. Ollie spotted what he swore was Nessie’s fin – “Look, Dad!” – and we all squinted, laughing when it turned out to be a log. That’s Loch Ness for you: myths and mischief in equal measure. Sarah and I cracked open a couple of Tennent’s, toasting our good fortune, while the kids chased each other round the garden, their whoops echoing off the hills.

As evening settled, we lit the wood burner – crackling away like an old friend – and sprawled out with board games. Monopoly turned into glorious anarchy, with Monopoly money flying everywhere and accusations of cheating (me, never!). Sitting there, flames dancing, loch lapping gently outside, I had one of those quiet moments of self-reflection. Life back home’s a whirlwind of school runs and deadlines, but here, in this little chalet bubble, it all fades. It’s the simple stuff – the shared giggles, the unplanned detours, the way the place wraps you in calm – that recharges the batteries. Bridgend’s not flashy; it’s real, unpretentious lodge life, perfect for a relaxed family escape. We’d only just arrived, but already I was plotting our return. What a cracking first day.