We’d been on the road for what felt like hours by the time we finally turned off the A12 and trundled along the narrow lanes towards Coral Cottage. The satnav had promised “you have arrived” three times already, but we were still circling the same roundabout when I spotted the sign for the holiday park. Naturally I missed the turning, which meant a five-minute detour past a field of slightly judgemental sheep before we pulled up outside the little whitewashed cottage. My other half gave me that look—the one that says “I told you to turn left at the pub”—but by then the sea air was already drifting through the open window and I couldn’t stop grinning.

The cottage sat just a short stroll from the shingle beach, tucked behind a low fence with pots of lavender either side of the door. As soon as we stepped out of the car the smell of salt and warm tarmac hit us, and the sound of waves was already louder than the traffic we’d left behind. I fumbled with the key safe for a minute—turns out pressing the buttons like a cash machine doesn’t work—before the door swung open to a bright, open living space. The sofa looked like it had been claimed by previous guests for serious napping, and the little kitchenette still smelled faintly of someone’s recent toast.

We dumped our bags and wandered straight out again, shoes kicked off at the doorstep. The path down to the beach was only a couple of minutes’ walk, and the tide was out far enough to leave wide stretches of damp sand dotted with tiny shells. I’d packed flip-flops for some reason and spent the first few minutes hopping between the warm pebbles and cooler patches, much to the amusement of a passing dog walker. Back at the cottage the little patio caught the afternoon sun perfectly; we sat with mugs of tea, watching gulls wheel overhead and listening to the gentle clink of rigging from the boats moored further along the shore.

It struck me, watching the light shift across the water, how quickly the long drive and the missed turning had already faded. Sometimes the best part of getting somewhere is realising you don’t need to be anywhere else for a while.