Frome, Forests, and Finding the Light

We chose Luckington Burrow, nestled near Frome, for our recent escape—not just because it’s a stunning corner of the UK (although it absolutely is), but also because we’ve explored the area before and keep finding reasons to return. It’s that perfect balance of rustic charm and photo opportunities galore. Even better, it’s less than two hours from home, which is ideal for anyone who enjoys a change of scenery but not necessarily motorway sandwiches.

The place we booked had serious Lord of the Rings energy. Think Hobbiton meets Airbnb, with a generous sprinkle of English countryside magic. Armed with my Canon R6 Mark II and a backpack brimming with lenses, I arrived ready to capture the atmosphere—and thoroughly test Leanne’s patience with my constant need to “just grab one more shot” before we could eat, move on, or sit down.

As we left behind dual carriageways and entered the realm of winding B-roads, the world got greener, the hedgerows got taller, and Benson (our German Shepherd and furry travel companion) became increasingly suspicious of sheep. He stared at them. They stared back. Nobody blinked.

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Farleigh Hungerford Castle

We made a stop at Farleigh Hungerford Castle to stretch our legs and let Benson have a sniff about. As luck would have it, we’re English heritage members—handy, because the entry price might otherwise sting a bit for something you can explore thoroughly in under 30 minutes. Still, it’s a lovely little stop, full of crumbling charm, hidden archways, and a dramatic tower or two just begging to be photographed.

And if I wasn’t grumbling about the price, I was grumbling about Benson sulking when Leanne went off to the toilet without him. I tried to explain she’d be back in two minutes, but he was already planning a search and rescue mission.

Ding ding last lap

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Our Hobbit Hole Hideaway

Pulling up to our accommodation felt like arriving on a film set (Luckington Stables). It was cosy, cleverly designed, and sunken into the earth just enough to make you wonder if you’d sprout hairy feet by morning. We had our own private garden, complete with a fire pit, posh BBQ, and a hot tub that was suspiciously effective at convincing us to stay put.

Benson gave the garden a thorough inspection and approved it for patrol duties. I gave the BBQ a thorough inspection and approved it for sausages.

The weather was unseasonably kind, with warm golden light each evening and not a drop of rain in sight. It was the sort of rare British forecast that makes you suspicious, like it’s lulling you into a false sense of security.

Leanne getting into Holiday mode.

There wasn’t anything to do within walking distance—no shops, no pubs, no distractions. But that was the whole idea. This was about switching off, unwinding, and trying not to fall out over forgotten chargers (it wasn’t me, I never forgot them, obviously).

Straight out of a fairy tail

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Bradford on Avon – Greenman Festival

One of the highlights of the trip was visiting Bradford on Avon during the Greenman Festival. The village itself is an absolute gem—cobbled streets, ancient bridges, and more charm than you can shake a gimbal at. During the festival, it transforms into a buzzing hub of creativity, music, food stalls, and questionable juggling.

The sunshine brought people out in their hundreds, dressed in everything from linen and flower crowns to something that may once have been a scarecrow costume. I spent most of the day with my camera glued to my face, capturing moments, characters, and conversations in motion. It was a street photographer’s dream—though Leanne might have called it a “bit much” after the fifth time I vanished mid-sentence chasing a man with a didgeridoo.

Also, £6.50 for a pint. Enough said.

Villagers enjoying a quality pamphlet

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Nunney – A Hidden Gem

On our last full day, we visited Nunney Castle—a charming medieval ruin surrounded by a moat and nestled right in the middle of what might be the friendliest village in Somerset. The castle is free to walk around, which immediately won me over, and the surrounding cottages look like something from a period drama sponsored by the National Sourdough Society.

We wandered the peaceful streets, enjoyed a meal in a rustic local pub, and exchanged nods with locals who seemed genuinely pleased to see visitors. Nunney feels like the kind of place where people still bake for their neighbours and own at least one corgi per household and leave their front doors unlocked.

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Fire, Food, and a Feathered Guest

Evenings were spent by the fire pit, where I performed my sacred BBQ duties like a man on a culinary quest—turning sausages with one hand while adjusting camera settings with the other. Leanne practiced relaxing, Benson patrolled, and I tried not to burn anything too badly.

Our only uninvited guest was a particularly judgemental wood pigeon who perched nearby each night, eyeing up the sausages like he had a legal claim to them. He didn’t get any, of course, but I did offer him a starring role in a photo. He seemed unimpressed, but I like to think he’s out there somewhere now, telling his pigeon mates he once posed for a food blogger.

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Closing Thoughts

This trip wasn’t about ticking boxes or doing it all. It was about slowing down, soaking up golden hour, and remembering that the best light is often found when you’re not frantically chasing it. It helped, of course, that our hobbit hole looked like it had been designed by Tolkien’s set decorators.

We came home with great memories, relaxed shoulders, and a few hundred photos to sort through (okay, maybe a few thousand).

Oh—and the pigeon didn’t get any sausages. But he got a close-up. Fair trade.