I’ll never forget the drive over to the Isle of Wight – we’d splashed out on the ferry from Portsmouth, buzzing with that proper holiday anticipation, kids glued to their iPads dreaming of sandcastles. But typical us, halfway across the Solent, the heavens opened and we hit a bit of a swell that had my other half clutching the rails looking greener than the seaweed. “This is your fault for picking the cheap crossing,” I joked, while secretly wondering if I’d packed enough ginger biscuits. Still, by the time we rolled off at Fishbourne and wound our way down to Bonchurch, the sun was peeking out, and I could practically taste the sea air.

Pulling up to our ground-floor apartment, just a stone’s throw from the beach, I had one of those “we’ve nailed it” moments. It was this cosy, stylish spot sleeping all six of us – perfect for our rabble of a family – with everything you need for a proper unwind. No faffing with stairs after a long day out, and the views from the windows had us grinning like idiots. First impressions? Spot on. We dumped the bags and legged it down to Bonchurch Beach, all of 300 metres away. The kids were straight in the shallows building wonky towers, while we parents flopped on the pebbles with a thermos of tea. Pure bliss, that simple joy of waves lapping at your toes.

Next morning, we ambled into Ventnor, not even a mile up the road, for a cracking seafood lunch at one of those unpretentious spots by the harbour – fresh crab sandwiches that tasted like they’d been plucked from the sea that minute. Fuelled up, we wandered over to the Botanic Garden, meandering through lush paths and exotic plants that felt a world away from the daily grind. The little ones chased butterflies, and I caught myself reflecting on how these quiet moments – no screens, just nature and nattering – are what recharge the batteries. Mind you, cottage life chaos kicked in when our toddler decided the koi pond needed “rescuing” with handfuls of gravel. A hasty retreat ensued, with me fishing out soggy socks later.

Afternoons were for pottering: beachcombing for quirky shells, lazy picnics on the shore, and one evening we even managed a family board game marathon back at the flat, complete with epic arguments over Monopoly properties. We kept it local, steering clear of anything too far-flung – though the pull of Shanklin’s waterfalls at the Chine tempted us for a half-hour drive one day. That scenic stroll through the gorge, with water tumbling down mossy rocks, was magical; the kids splashed about while we pretended we were explorers.

Looking back, it was the kind of holiday that sneaks up on you – no grand adventures, just those everyday pleasures laced with a bit of family mayhem. The Isle of Wight has this knack for making you slow down, and our little apartment was the ideal base for it. If you’re after a relaxed family break, this is the spot. We’re already plotting a return.