I finally rolled into Saundersfoot after a bit of a faff on the M4, my little hatchback groaning under the weight of weekend bags and a cool box that I'd optimistically packed with enough picnic fodder for a fortnight. It was one of those classic Welsh summer Fridays – grey skies threatening rain, but with that teasing hint of blue peeking through – and I'd left Cardiff later than planned because, wouldn't you know it, I managed to lock my keys in the car at a services stop. Proper numpty moment: there I was, faffing with a pasty from the petrol station, phone in one hand, keys in the other, and slam goes the door. Twenty minutes and a flustered AA call later (shoutout to the bloke who arrived with a coat hanger like some budget magician), I was back on the road, swearing I'd never tempt fate with a pasty again.

By the time I crested the hill into Saundersfoot, the sea was winking at me from below – that perfect crescent of golden sand curving round the bay, dotted with families building sandcastles and the odd dog chasing waves. The village itself is a right treat: pastel-coloured terraced houses tumbling down to the harbour, fishing boats bobbing gently, and the air thick with the salty tang of the Pembrokeshire coast mixed with chips frying from the beachfront takeaways. I followed the satnav's cheery voice down a narrow lane – proper Welsh single-track stuff, mind, with hedges brushing the wing mirrors – and pulled up outside Deluxe With Parking, my home for the next three days. And what a spot: right on the edge of the village, with its own parking space (a godsend in these parts) and a cheeky sea view that had me grinning like an idiot before I'd even turned off the engine.

First impressions? Blimey, it hit me like a warm hug after the drive's chaos. The cottage is one of those modern jobbies done up in that Scandi-Welsh style – all clean lines, plush neutrals, and massive windows that frame the bay like a living painting. I fumbled the key code (fingers still shaky from the keys fiasco) and stepped inside to the smell of fresh linen and that faint coastal breeze sneaking through the vents. The open-plan living area is spot on: squishy corner sofa begging for a collapse, a telly bigger than my flat's, and a kitchen kitted out with every gadget going – Nespresso machine, wine fridge, the lot. I dumped my bags and made straight for the ensuite decking out back. Deck-ing! Proper elevated wooden platform with bistro table, chairs, and that sea view stretching out to Caldey Island on the horizon. I cracked open a cold one from the cool box (miraculously intact) and just sat there, watching gulls wheel overhead and the tide roll in. The mishap on the motorway felt like a distant joke already.

Wandering down to the beach took all of five minutes – flip-flops on, past the harbour where kids were crabbing off the wall with feathers and bait from the tackle shop. Saundersfoot's beach is the star: soft sand that doesn't stick like glue, clean waves for a paddle (bracing, mind), and those rock pools teeming with blennies and anemones. I grabbed fish and chips from the harbourside van – proper batter, mushy peas on the side – and plonked on the sand, the sun finally breaking through. Back at the cottage, the decking became my throne: evening light turning the sea gold, a cheeky barbecue sorted with the built-in grill (burgers sizzling, no disasters this time). It's funny, isn't it? You set off thinking a weekend away will sort your head out, but it's the little things – like arriving flustered and finding this gem of a place that just... fits. Made me reflect on how often I barrel through life at full pelt, forgetting to pause and let the sea do its magic.

That first evening, as the sun dipped and fairy lights twinkled from nearby pubs, I thought: this is it. Deluxe With Parking isn't just a stay; it's the perfect launchpad for Saundersfoot's charm. Chaos of arrival forgotten, I was hooked.