We’d barely left the A12 when the satnav decided we were going the scenic route, which in Suffolk usually means single-track lanes and the odd tractor. By the time we finally trundled into Walberswick the children were singing the same three lines of a song on repeat and I was promising ice creams if everyone stayed calm. The cottage sat just off the main lane, a low weatherboarded place with a wonky chimney and a gate that squeaked like it hadn’t been oiled since the eighties. I managed to stall the car right outside it while trying to read the number on the post, which set the dog off barking and the kids into fits of laughter at Dad’s parking skills.

Once we’d unpacked the boot—mainly wellies, sandy towels and far too many packets of biscuits—we stepped inside and the smell of woodsmoke and fresh bread hit us straight away. The kitchen was warm from the Aga, the table already laid with mismatched mugs, and someone had left a note saying the beach path started at the end of the garden. We didn’t need telling twice. Five minutes later we were crunching along the sandy track, the North Sea glinting through the reeds, and the children racing ahead with buckets already in hand.

Back at the cottage the garden proved just as useful as the beach. There was a battered ping-pong table under a tarpaulin and a couple of deckchairs that had clearly seen better summers, yet they did the job. We sat with mugs of tea while the youngest tried to teach the dog to fetch driftwood, mostly unsuccessfully. Later, once the sun dipped, we lit the fire pit and cooked sausages on skewers, the smoke drifting up into a sky that still held a trace of pink. No telly, no rush, just the occasional pop of wood and the distant sound of waves.

What struck me most, though, was how quickly the usual background noise in my head quietened down. I’d arrived wound up about work emails and the school calendar, yet within an hour of that clumsy arrival I was content just watching the children chase each other round the lawn in their pyjamas. The cottage didn’t dazzle; it simply let us slow down, and for a few days that felt like exactly enough.