Bradford-on-Avon

With a stroke of luck, we landed in the most stunning English village, Bradford-on-Avon — and it was EXACTLY what I needed.

After nearly two months stuck indoors healing my injured ankle, barely mobile, this trip was born out of sheer desperation to leave the house.

I hobbled and ambled my way around the charming village centre and along the canal path with poor Oliver patiently waiting as I stopped and started every few steps.

We whiled away hours in cosy cafés — sipping tea (occasionally cheekily swapped for a glass of bubbly), devouring cake, and doing what I love best: people-watching.

We had a roast that seriously blew our minds (and I’m not just saying that because the chef was South African!) at

The Bunch of Grapes.

As two people constantly on the hunt for the perfect Sunday roast, Oliver and I both agree — this one’s definitely near the very top of our list.

And to cap it all off, we stayed at The Hall — an incredible, secluded manor house that exceeded every expectation, with sprawling gardens and heaps of complimentary (yes, FREE!) treats to keep you indulged from morning ‘til night.

By the time we left Bradford-on-Avon, I felt like I’d finally exhaled after holding my breath for weeks.

There was something so healing about the simple joy of wandering (well, limping, hobbling, and the occasional wince) with no agenda — it felt like balm for the soul.

It reminded me that sometimes, the best recovery for the physical is actually emotional — letting a little countryside magic (and preferably some cake and tea) piece you back together, one wobbly step at a time.