We’d barely pulled off the A259 when the satnav decided we were already there, which would’ve been handy if we hadn’t still been three miles shy of Middleton-on-Sea. Cue a ten-minute detour down a lane so narrow the wing mirrors kissed the hedges, and a small but perfectly formed panic when a tractor appeared in the opposite direction. We reversed into someone’s driveway, waved like lunatics, and finally rolled up at Sealight with the sort of triumphant exhaustion usually reserved for Everest base camp.

The cottage sits just far enough from the road to feel properly tucked away, yet the sea is only a couple of minutes’ stroll across the grass. First impressions were all about that soft, salty breeze drifting in through the open car door and the way the late-afternoon light turned the front garden a gentle gold. Our daughter was out of her booster seat before the handbrake was on, already negotiating which bedroom had the better view of the water. Inside, everything felt reassuringly straightforward: a cosy living room with squashy sofas, a kitchen that promised minimal washing-up, and a little patio where the kettle could live permanently on the table.

We unpacked at the speed of people who’d promised themselves “no plans,” then wandered down to the shingle with takeaway fish and chips balanced on cardboard trays. The tide was out, leaving wide, damp stretches perfect for wellie prints and the odd optimistic castle. Back at the cottage, we claimed the garden chairs, poured something cold, and watched the sky slide from blue to peach while our son tried to identify every bird that landed on the fence. It struck me, not for the first time, how little you actually need when the sea is that close and the Wi-Fi password is written on a chalkboard by the kettle.

Later, after the children had claimed the top bunks and quiet had settled, I stood at the open door listening to the distant hush of waves. The day’s small comedy of wrong turns already felt like part of the charm rather than a hitch. There’s something gently corrective about arriving somewhere so simple: you remember that holidays aren’t about ticking boxes or driving miles for “attractions,” but about letting the evening light stretch a little longer and letting yourself stretch with it.