Just got back from the most brilliant week in a luxury holiday cottage in Suffolk, and I’m already plotting our return. Tucked away in a sleepy village near Aldeburgh, this place was pure bliss – think thatched roof, wood-burning stove, and a garden that rolled right down to a babbling brook. We went as a family of four: me, the wife, our two lads (aged 8 and 10), and enough board games to last a nuclear winter.

From the off, it was all about ditching the rush. No packed itineraries, just proper cottage chaos. Mornings kicked off with brekkie in the massive farmhouse kitchen – I’d faff about making a full English with local sausages from the farm shop down the lane, while the boys turned the Aga into a Lego construction site. Cue the inevitable burnt toast and a sticky floor, but who cares? That’s the joy of it. We’d pile into the car for a gentle wander along the Suffolk Coast Path, dodging cow pats and filling our lungs with that briny sea air. Southwold’s pier was a highlight – the boys lost their minds over the wonky arcade machines, and I blew a tenner trying to whack some moles. Classic dad fail.

Afternoons were for simple pleasures. We’d mooch around Orford Ness on the little ferry, gawping at the shingle spit and those eerie Cold War ruins. The kids built epic sandcastles while I pretended to read a book, but really I was sneaking crisps and people-watching. Back at the cottage, it was wood-burner time: me wrestling with logs (why do they never catch first go?), wife sorting a cracking shepherd’s pie with spuds from the veg box delivery, and the boys turning the lounge into a den of doom with blankets and torches. One night, we had a power cut – cue panicked rummaging for candles, followed by the best ghost stories ever. Laughing till our sides hurt, snuggled up with hot chocolate. Pure magic.

I had a quiet moment of reflection by the garden pond one evening, watching the lads chase dragonflies. Life’s mad sometimes – work stress, school runs – but here, it all melted away. Suffolk has this knack of reminding you what matters: family, fresh air, and not giving a toss about perfect Instagram shots. (Though I did post one sneaky pic of the sunset over the marshes – likes be damned.)

Evenings meant pub grub at the local, like The Crown in Southwold, with pints of Adnams and fish and chips that tasted of the sea. Bedtimes were a farce – overtired kids bouncing off walls – but waking to birdsong and no alarm? Priceless.

Suffolk’s luxury cottages nail that relaxed family vibe: swish without the showiness. It’s the chaos that makes it – spilled milk, muddy boots, and all. We left knackered but buzzing, hearts full. If you’re after a proper break, book one. You won’t regret it.