I’ll never forget the drive down to Elmer in West Sussex – the sat-nav decided to have a midlife crisis just past Chichester, sending us on a merry loop through some back lane that looked like it hadn’t seen tarmac since the war. We ended up with a boot full of crisps scattered everywhere and me laughing so hard I nearly drove into a hedge. But as we finally trundled onto the private estate, the tension melted away. There it was, this cracking contemporary waterfront cottage, all upside-down with the living space up top and a balcony screaming sea views. Direct beach access from the garden? Pinch me. First impressions? Bloody brilliant – or rather, absolutely spot on. I could already picture lazy mornings with coffee in hand, waves crashing below.

We’d barely unpacked when we met our first character: old Reg from the neighbouring chalet. He popped over with a tray of slightly wonky homemade scones, insisting we try his “secret recipe” that involved more raisins than dough. “You lot from up country, eh? You’ll love it here – no crowds, just us locals and the odd seal popping by for a nosey.” Reg was a retired fisherman, full of tales about the time he hooked a monster bass off Elmer Sands back in ’78. We ended up chatting for an hour on the balcony, him chain-smoking roll-ups and me trying not to cough. His wife, Doris, chimed in from the garden path, yelling about how the hot tub was “better than Blackpool’s, mark my words.” Proper characters, the pair of them – warm as toast and twice as crinkly.

Next day, we wandered the coastal path – just a gate swing from the cottage garden – and bumped into Mandy, who runs the beachside café in Middleton-on-Sea. She’s this whirlwind of a woman with a laugh like a foghorn, serving up the best crab sandwiches this side of Bognor. “First time at Elmer? You’re in for a treat – none of that Littlehampton lark with the pier crowds. Just sand, sky, and us lot keeping it real.” Over fish and chips wrapped in yesterday’s news, she regaled us with stories of the annual sandcastle comp, where her nephew once built a fortress so epic it won against a team of proper engineers from Arun district. We laughed till our sides hurt, promising to enter next year.

Even the evening dog-walkers had stories. There was quiet Pete, who cycles from Elmer to Bognor Regis every dawn, swearing the sea air keeps his knees from seizing up. “Seen dolphins out there twice this summer,” he muttered, eyes twinkling. “Don’t tell the tourists – they’d swarm the place.” We soaked it all up from the hot tub, bubbles fizzing as the sun dipped into the Channel.

Staying there made me reflect a bit – in the rush of London life, I’d forgotten how chats with quirky locals ground you. No agendas, just proper natter about seals, scones, and sandy escapades. Elmer’s beachfront gem gave us that rare uncrowded bliss, all wrapped in characters who made it unforgettable. Can’t wait to go back.