I’ll never forget the drive to Blakeney – one of those classic Norfolk trips where the sat-nav decides to have a little fun with you. We’d set off from Cambridge full of beans, sandwiches packed and a playlist of sea shanties on the go, only for the thing to route us down a narrow lane that turned into a muddy track. Cue a tense five minutes reversing into a hedge while a farmer on a tractor gave us the side-eye. Still, we laughed it off, and by the time the salt marshes came into view, all that anticipation melted into proper excitement. Blakeney was just around the corner, promising that perfect coastal unwind.

Pulling up to our bijou bolthole in the heart of the village, I was smitten straight away. This gorgeous Grade II cottage, dating back to the 1800s, is a super-stylish hideaway for two – all romantic nooks and spacious charm, the ideal spot for a year-round escape in North Norfolk. First impressions? Spot on. The front door creaked open to reveal a cosy interior that whispered ‘put your feet up and forget the world’.

And that’s exactly what we did. No grand plans, no ticking off bucket lists – just the sheer joy of doing very little. Mornings started slow, with tea brewed in the kitchen and a wander out to the garden. It’s a proper suntrap, that garden, tucked away and bursting with wildflowers and herbs. I’d plonk myself in a lounger with a dog-eared paperback – something light like a P.G. Wodehouse for a chuckle – while the other half pottered about, occasionally lobbing a biscuit my way. The air smelled of sea salt and lavender, and you could hear the curlews calling from the marshes. Bliss.

Afternoons blurred into lazy hazes. We’d amble down to the quay for a potter along the harbour, watching seals bob about like cheeky locals, but we never bothered with the boat trips or hikes. Instead, it was back to the cottage for more reading, sprawled on the sofa with windows flung wide to catch the breeze. One day, I even managed a whole chapter without nodding off – small victories. Lunch was simple: cheese from the village deli, crusty bread, and a flask of something cold from the fridge. Evenings? A gentle stroll to the chip shop for haddock and mushy peas, eaten picnic-style in the garden as the sun dipped low, painting the sky in those Norfolk pinks and golds.

There was this one moment of gentle self-reflection, sat there with my book forgotten, staring at the clouds. I realised how rarely we let ourselves slow down – no emails pinging, no rush. Just being. It was humbling, really, in the best way. Blakeney’s magic isn’t in the doing; it’s in the not doing. Those cottage days recharged us more than any adventure could. If you fancy switching off proper, this is your spot. We’re already plotting a return.