I’ll never forget the drive down to Aldeburgh – what should’ve been a straightforward jaunt from Norwich turned into a proper comedy of errors. Sat-nav decided to play silly beggars, rerouting us through some narrow lanes that had me white-knuckling the wheel as branches scraped the sides of the car. Then, just as we neared the coast, a rogue pheasant shot out like it owned the road, forcing an emergency swerve that sent my crisps flying everywhere. By the time we pulled up, I was frazzled, covered in cheese and onion crumbs, and swearing I’d never trust technology again. But oh, the anticipation had been building all week – visions of salty sea air and lazy beach walks had me buzzing like a kid at Christmas.

Pulling into the free parking spot – a godsend in a place where you usually end up circling like a shark – we finally clapped eyes on the place. It’s this beautifully furnished split-level apartment, dead cosy and stylish without trying too hard, tucked away in a fantastic spot just a short stroll from the shingle beach and that buzzing High Street. First impressions? Bloody brilliant, actually. We dumped the bags and headed straight out, the private garden calling our name for later gins in the sun. But right then, the beach was the magnet – those pebbles crunching underfoot, the North Sea breeze whipping up a bit of a chill but in the best way possible.

We wandered down to the water’s edge, dodging the odd dog-walker, and I couldn’t help but grin at how quickly the arrival chaos melted away. Aldeburgh’s got that magic, doesn’t it? Craggy cliffs in the distance, gulls wheeling overhead, and the High Street just begging to be explored. We popped into a couple of cafes for a cream tea – scones still warm, clotted cream piled high – and laughed about my crisp catastrophe over steaming pots. Later, we ambled past the independent shops, picking up some local fudge and eyeing the seafood spots for supper. There’s this one pub we ducked into, all low chatter and real ales, where the fish and chips were so fresh they practically flopped off the plate.

Sitting in that garden as the sun dipped, feet up after our ramble, I had a proper moment of self-reflection. Life back home’s a whirlwind of deadlines and drudgery, but here, in this quiet corner of Suffolk, it all felt so simple. No grand adventures needed – just good company, a comfy spot to crash, and the sea doing its thing. We even caught the tail end of a fisherman’s shanty drifting from the beach, which had us humming along like amateurs. If you’re after a couples’ getaway that’s low-key but laced with charm, this is it. Mishaps and all, it was the perfect reset – already plotting our return.