I’ll never forget the drive to Newport for our three-day getaway – it was one of those journeys that starts off promising but quickly descends into mild chaos, all because of my daft navigation skills. We’d piled into the car from the ferry port, me at the wheel with the sat-nav primed, hubby navigating (or so he thought), and the kids buzzing about the hot tub we’d been promised at the Deluxe 3 Bedroom Lodge with Ensuite. Newport’s just a hop from the Isle of Wight’s ferry drop-off, but somehow, in my excitement, I missed the turning for the holiday park and ended up looping through some narrow lanes lined with those classic Wight thatched cottages. “Left here!” shouted the other half, just as I swerved to avoid a cheeky pheasant strutting across the road like it owned the place. Cue a near miss, a burst of laughter, and me muttering, “Blimey, if this is how arrival goes, what’s the lodge like?”

By the time we rolled up – a good 20 minutes later than planned, with gravel crunching under the tyres – the sun was dipping low over the fields, casting that golden glow that makes everything feel a bit magical. The lodge sat there like a proper treat: a sleek wooden beauty with a private deck wrapped around it, overlooking a quiet glade that screamed “relaxation station.” We tumbled out, bags in tow, still giggling about the pheasant fiasco, and the first impressions hit like a warm hug. The exterior was spotless, all cedar cladding and those big windows promising views inside. “This looks posh,” said little one, eyes wide, while I fumbled for the key code on my phone – naturally, signal was patchy, so there was a frantic two minutes of me waving it in the air like a demented antenna.

Inside? Cor, what a belter. Stepping through the door felt like entering our own little woodland retreat – open-plan living space with plush sofas begging to be sunk into, a kitchen gleaming with every gadget you’d need for a fry-up or a cheeky pasta bake. The air smelled fresh, like pine and clean linen, and the wood-burning stove (unlit, but tempting) took centre stage. We dashed straight to the bedrooms – three of ’em, all ensuite, with kingsize beds piled high with fluffy duvets. Ours had a massive window framing the trees, and the en-suite shower was one of those rain-head jobbies that made me sigh in advance. The kids claimed theirs with whoops, discovering crisp white towels folded just so. “Mum, it’s like a hotel but better!” piped up the youngest, flopping onto the bed.

But the real star? That deck and hot tub. We cracked it open via the sliding doors, and there it was: bubbling away under a pergola strung with fairy lights, steam rising into the twilight. Surrounded by fenced privacy, with loungers and a table for evening gins, it overlooked nothing but greenery – no nosy neighbours, just birdsong and the odd rustle in the undergrowth. First impressions didn’t disappoint; we chucked our swimming stuff on (after a quick unpack, obvs) and hopped in, the jets massaging away the drive’s stresses. “Pheasant 1, us 0,” joked the hubby, clinking bottles, as bubbles tickled our toes. Newport’s gentle hum felt miles away already – the town’s high street with its chip shops and pubs just a short stroll or drive, but here we were cocooned in luxury.

Reflecting on that messy arrival now, as the stars popped out overhead, I realised it’s the cock-ups that make the good bits shine brighter. That lodge wasn’t just a holiday let; it was instant home-from-home bliss, turning our frantic start into pure, restorative joy. If you’re after first-night wow factor in Newport, this is your spot – mishaps and all.