We’d been on the road for nearly four hours when the satnav cheerfully announced we’d arrived, only for us to realise we’d pulled up outside next door’s garage. My partner, who’d been navigating with the confidence of someone who’d once got us to Dover instead of Dovercourt, simply said, “Well, at least we’re close.” We reversed out, laughing at ourselves, and finally turned into the little lane that led to the three-bed cottage in Lowestoft.

The moment we stepped out of the car the sea air hit us, sharp and clean, carrying that faint metallic tang you only get on the Suffolk coast. A few steps and we could already hear the waves, a low, steady hush just beyond the rooftops. The cottage itself looked exactly as promised: a neat, red-brick place with a small gravel drive and a wooden gate that squeaked in a friendly way when we pushed it open.

Inside, the first thing that struck me was how instantly homely it felt. The living room was bright from the big front window, with a couple of well-loved sofas and a wood burner already laid ready for later. The kitchen smelled faintly of fresh paint and the sea breeze drifting through the open back door. Upstairs, the three bedrooms were simple but comfortable; the biggest had a view straight down the narrow street towards the water, and I caught myself lingering at the window, watching a dog walker disappear along the path.

We dumped our bags and wandered straight out again, shoes crunching on the short stretch of pavement that led to the beach. It was low tide, the sand still damp and patterned with little rivulets. I kicked off my trainers without thinking and instantly regretted it; the water was colder than I’d expected for June. My partner just grinned and said nothing, which was probably wise.

Back at the cottage we made tea in mismatched mugs and sat on the bench outside. The mishap with the satnav already felt like part of the story, one of those tiny reminders that holidays rarely go exactly to plan. Sitting there, listening to the gulls and the distant rattle of the promenade, I realised how rarely we actually stop and notice where we are. The cottage didn’t need to be grand; it just needed to give us this view, this air, and a place to come back to after a walk. And it did, right from the first moment we arrived.