I’ll never forget the drive over to the Isle of Wight – chucking it down with rain as we boarded the ferry from Portsmouth, and then our sat-nav decided to have a proper mare, sending us on a daft detour through some back lane that looked like it hadn’t seen tarmac since the war. We arrived at the holiday spot a bit frazzled, but honestly, as soon as we pulled up to this cracking two-bed apartment in a converted church right in the heart of Ventnor, all that stress melted away. It’s one of those places that hits you with great first impressions – you step inside and bam, this stunning open-plan living space with those jaw-dropping double-height vaulted ceilings. I plonked myself on the velvet sofas, feeling all serene, and my mate grabbed the reading chair with a book, while we peeked through the telescope at the emerging stars. Proper wow factor, and just a stroll from Ventnor’s beaches and that Victorian vibe.

What made the whole trip, though, were the quirky locals we bumped into – they’re the real stars of Ventnor. First off, there was Madge behind the counter at the little beachside café on our first morning. She’s this tiny woman in her seventies with a peroxide bob and a laugh like a foghorn, who insisted on force-feeding us her “special” crab sandwiches. “You’re not leavin’ without tryin’ these, luv – caught fresh by my nephew this mornin’!” she bellowed, slapping them down with a wink. Turned out her nephew’s a proper character too – we met him later on the sand at Ventnor Beach, knee-deep in rock pools with a bucket of crabs, regaling us with tales of how he once wrestled a seal off his boat during a storm. “Seals are cheeky buggers,” he grinned, “but nothin’ a good net can’t sort!” We spent the afternoon chatting watersports with him – he runs kitesurfing lessons and swore we’d wipe out on the first wave. Cheeky sod was right about me, but it was a laugh.

Then there’s Geoff, the chap we got chatting to on one of those spectacular coastal walks along the Undercliff. He’s a retired postman with a limp from “too many years dodgin’ dogs,” who knows every inch of the paths like the back of his hand. Over a thermos of tea on a bench overlooking Steephill Cove, he spun yarns about Ventnor’s heyday as a health resort – “Doctors sent folk here to breathe the sea air, cure their lungs. Worked for me mum!” We wandered down to the cove together, where he pointed out the best spots for foraging samphire, and even shared a pint at the beach café afterwards. Proper gent, Geoff – made you feel like you’d known him forever.

Even at the local curry house one night – a gem tucked away near the esplanade – the owner, Raj, pulled up a chair mid-meal. “First time in Ventnor? You must try the ghost pepper challenge!” he teased, eyes twinkling. We politely declined, but ended up swapping stories about his move from Mumbai 20 years back and how the island’s “proper English weather” keeps him on his toes.

Looking back, it’s funny how a place like this – peaceful and tucked away – draws you into these random chats that stick with you. I’m usually a bit shy with strangers, but something about Ventnor loosens you up. Made me reflect on how holidays aren’t just about the views or the comfort (though this apartment nailed both), but the folk you meet who turn a good trip into a brilliant one. Can’t wait to go back and catch up with that lot.