I finally made it to Seacroft after what felt like the scenic route from hell – or at least from the M4. We'd piled the family into the car in Bristol, kids buzzing with crisps and iPads, me at the wheel promising "just two hours, tops." Naturally, ten miles from Narberth, the satnav decided to throw a wobbly, directing us down a single-track lane that ended in a muddy farmyard full of very unimpressed cows. Cue me reversing like a ninja while the other half stifled giggles and the little ones chanted "moo-ved over!" A proper Welsh welcome, that was – chaotic, but we laughed it off as we backtracked, arriving at Seacroft just as the sun dipped low over the Pembrokeshire hills.

Pulling up to this cosy little detached lodge on the edge of Narberth, I was smitten straight away. It's one of those spots tucked into a peaceful holiday park, surrounded by rolling fields and not a hint of city noise. The wooden exterior with its pitched roof screamed "get your wellies on and chill," and as we unloaded the boot – spilling half the shopping in the process – the fresh sea-tinged air hit us. Pembrokeshire's got that magic, hasn't it? Even inland like this, just a few miles from the coast, you feel the pull of the waves. Seacroft's got three bedrooms, perfect for our lot: me, the missus, our two under-tens, and the dog who thinks he's the fifth wheelie bin.

Stepping inside for those first impressions, it was pure lodge life bliss with a side of family mayhem. The open-plan living area welcomed us with a wood-burning stove (unlit, but promising cosy evenings), squishy sofas that practically hugged you, and a kitchen kitted out for lazy brekkies – think toaster for crumpets and a proper kettle for builders' tea. We dumped the bags and raided the fridge for the milk we'd wisely bought en route. The kids immediately claimed the bedrooms upstairs: the master with its en-suite and sea glimpses through the window (you can just spy the distant coast on a clear day), and the twins' room with bunks that had them scrambling like monkeys before we'd even unpacked. Chaos erupted when the youngest discovered the travel cot we'd crammed in wouldn't fit – cue five minutes of Tetris with furniture, me sweating and swearing under my breath while everyone else scarpered to explore the garden.

That garden, mind – oh, it's a belter. Fully enclosed with a patio begging for barbecues, lawn for footie, and views over the park's green expanse. We let the dog loose, and he tore about like he'd been caged for years, while the kids kicked a ball and hollered at the sheep in the next field. Simple pleasures, innit? No grand plans, just that first evening pottering about, firing up the outdoor furniture as the sun set in a pinky-orange glow. I cracked open a cold one, the other half rustled up fish fingers and chips (holiday rules: no cooking proper till tomorrow), and we sat there, feet up, listening to the rustle of leaves and distant birds. Light humour in the air too – the dog nicked a chip mid-air, earning him hero status and a stern "no more, you bandit!"

As the stars popped out – Pembrokeshire skies are ridiculous for that – I had a quiet moment of self-reflection on the patio, nursing my drink while the family dozed inside after their sugar crash. Work stresses from back home felt a million miles away; here at Seacroft, it's all about switching off, embracing the little lodge life hiccups like our arrival farce. Reminded me how these unpretentious breaks recharge the soul – no Instagram perfection, just us, a bit of Welsh whimsy, and the promise of beach walks tomorrow. First impressions? Hooked already. Can't wait for day two.