I’ll never forget the drive over to the Isle of Wight for our family holiday – or rather, the ferry crossing that nearly did us in. We’d piled into the car with the kids, bags stuffed to bursting with snacks, beach toys and enough changes of clothes to last a siege. Halfway across the Solent, little Ellie decided it was the perfect moment to be sick all over the back seat. Cue muffled groans, a frantic rummage for wipes, and me trying to keep a straight face while assuring everyone we were nearly there. By the time we rolled off the ferry at Portsmouth and onto the island, anticipation was buzzing – Ventnor’s sandy shores were calling, and we couldn’t wait to kick back.

Pulling up roadside in Ventnor, just a hop from the beach, our first glimpse of the ground-floor holiday home had us grinning like idiots. It’s this cosy, renovated spot with an open-plan living area that floods with light through those classic bay windows – perfect for us lot to sprawl out on the plush sofa beds after a day of mayhem. We tumbled through the communal entrance, dumped the bags, and straight away, the kids claimed the sunny dining nook by the window, already peering out at the sea with wide eyes. The kitchen was a godsend, kitted out with everything for self-catering disasters (think burnt toast and midnight biscuit raids), and that elegant bathroom with its freestanding bath? Bliss after sandy toes and sticky fingers.

First impressions? Spot on. We cracked open a pack of tea bags, brewed up, and just sat there soaking in the view – Ventnor Bay sparkling like it was made for lazy family afternoons. No fancy plans, just simple pleasures: a short stroll to the beach for sandcastles that inevitably collapsed into giggles, or wandering Ventnor Park’s vibrant gardens where the kids chased each other round the flowerbeds while I pretended to admire the botany.

Evenings brought that lovely cottage-life chaos we crave. One night, we ambled into town for fish and chips from the Haven Fishery – fresh as can be, watched the fishermen at work, then ate them hot on the esplanade, salt in the air and waves lapping nearby. Another time, pub grub at The Blenheim hit the spot, with the little ones tucking into mini portions while we parents snuck a pint. We kept it local, pottering to Shanklin Beach for a go at paddleboarding (I wobbled like a drunk penguin, naturally), or lolling on Ventnor sands building epic moats. The double bedroom was our sanctuary, though sharing with overtired kids meant elbows in ribs and dawn wakey-wakeys.

Reflecting on it now, holidays like this remind me how the best bits aren’t the big adventures, but the small stuff – the shared laughs over a spilled cuppa, the way the sea air makes everything feel lighter. Sure, there was the odd toddler tantrum and my failed attempt at gourmet spag bol, but that’s the joy of it. Ventnor’s got that unhurried charm, close to pubs, beaches and parks without the hassle. We left Cliffview – sorry, our little home-from-home – feeling properly recharged, already plotting a return for more sandy, chaotic bliss. If you’re after a relaxed family escape, this is the ticket.