I’ll never forget the drive over to the Isle of Wight for our family get-together – the sat-nav decided to have a midlife crisis just as we hit Portsmouth, sending us on a wild goose chase through some back lanes that looked straight out of a dodgy horror film. Hearts racing a bit, we finally made the ferry from Portsmouth to Fishbourne, and by the time we rolled into Wootton Bridge, the stress melted away. There it was, this cracking holiday home tucked away in the lively coastal village – a proper spacious cottage with five bedrooms and a cosy annexe, perfect for our lot of 12 squeezing in for Mum’s birthday bash. First impressions? Spot on. The garden overlooked the creek, and you could practically smell the sea air mixed with someone’s barbecue down the way.

We’d built up this massive anticipation on the crossing, fantasising about feasts and pub crawls, and it didn’t disappoint. Unpacked in no time, and straight into the kitchen – a beauty of a setup for a gang like ours. First night, we divvied up duties: me on spuds, the kids on chopping veg, and my brother attempting his “famous” paella. Famous for all the wrong reasons, mind – it ended up more like spicy rice pudding after he overdid the paprika. We laughed it off with a cheeky bottle of local wine from Briddlesford Lodge Farm Shop, just a mile up the road. Popped in there the next morning for eggs, cheeses, and the freshest bread you’ve ever seen. That farm shop’s a gem – shelves groaning under Isle of Wight cheeses, homemade chutneys, and plump strawberries that tasted like summer in a punnet. Stocked us up for days.

Pubs became our religion. The Wheatsheaf in Wootton Bridge is literally round the corner – we piled in for fish and chips that were so crispy and flaky, they put every mainland chippy to shame. Proper portions too, with mushy peas that didn’t come from a tin. Evenings there blurred into roasts on Sundays, washed down with a pint of Goddards ale, brewed right on the island. One night, after a gentle stroll to Woodside Beach (barely 10 minutes away), we hit the Bridge Tavern for seafood platters – oysters straight from the Solent, prawns the size of my thumb, and crab that was melt-in-the-mouth fresh. The kids demolished bowls of chips while we grown-ups pretended we weren’t matching them pint for pint.

Cooking back at the cottage turned into hilarious chaos. My attempt at a full English breakfast for 12? Epic fail – sausages everywhere, bacon cremated. But we redeemed ourselves with a massive pasta bake using veg from Briddlesford and local sausages that burst with flavour. Sat round the big table, plates piled high, it felt proper magical. Made me reflect a bit, actually – rushing about life back home, we forget how simple joys like faffing in a kitchen with your lot, or nipping to a farm shop for treats, recharge the batteries like nothing else.

Ventured to nearby spots for more grub: Havenstreet’s Steam Railway café did cracking cream teas (scones still warm), and we grabbed picnic bits from Butterfly World’s little shop – exotic fruit alongside butterfly-shaped biscuits for the nippers. Evenings always looped back to the cottage for cheese boards groaning under Isle of Wight Blue and Ryde Goat’s Milk varieties, paired with crusty loaves. Left fatter, happier, and already plotting the next trip. If you’re rounding up the clan, Wootton Bridge is your spot – food-focused heaven on the Isle.