I finally made it to Sussex after a bit of a faff on the train from London – some signal failure meant we sat in a tunnel for what felt like ages, and I ended up sharing my crisps with a bloke who looked like he'd rather be anywhere else. Still, by the time I pulled into Worthing station, the sun was peeking through the clouds, and I was buzzing with that holiday anticipation, imagining lazy days by the sea with nothing but good food on the horizon.

The property turned out to be a charming holiday cottage, all cosy and welcoming with its seaside vibe – proper first impressions, that. I dumped my bags and headed straight out for a nose around, stomach rumbling already. Worthing's got this brilliant little high street just a short stroll away, packed with independent shops and a daily market that had me salivating from the off. First stop was the fish stall – fresh mackerel and plump prawns straight off the boats, they said. I grabbed a load, plus some local veg, dreaming of knocking up a seaside feast.

That evening, I tried my hand at cooking in the cottage's lovely kitchen. I'm no Gordon Ramsay, mind – ended up with slightly overdone mackerel because I got distracted faffing with the herbs from the market. But slathered in butter and lemon, it was cracking, eaten on the patio with a cold pint from the fridge. Laughed at myself there, really; back home I'm all Deliveroo, but out here, there's something dead satisfying about burning your own dinner and still loving it.

Next day, it was pub time. The local down by the beachfront was heaving with locals – proper proper, with wooden tables sticky from years of spills and the best fish and chips I've had in ages. Battered cod the size of my forearm, chips thick and golden, mushy peas on the side. I chatted to the barman about the catch of the day, and he reckoned the Sussex fisheries are second to none. Washed it down with a pint of Harvey's, that nutty ale they brew nearby – went straight to my head in the best way.

Couldn't resist the market again midweek; loaded up on artisan cheeses from a Sussex dairy stall, crusty bread, and some plump Sussex tomatoes that tasted like summer. Back at the cottage, I attempted a ploughman's lunch with a twist – added those prawns for a seafood kick. Turned out alright, though I did spill chutney everywhere and had to scrub the table like a proper domestic goddess. Sat there in the afternoon sun, munching away, reflecting on how I never slow down enough at home to savour food like this. It's the simple stuff, isn't it? No rush, just good nosh and a full belly.

Evenings blurred into more pub crawls – one spot did a cracking Sunday roast with local pork belly, crackling like bubble wrap, and gravy you could swim in. Another had homemade pies, steak and ale being the winner, paired with a cheeky glass of Sussex sparkling wine from just up the road. I waddled back each night, stuffed and happy, vowing to recreate it all when I got home (yeah, right).

Honestly, this holiday was all about the eating – markets fuelling my amateur chef disasters, pubs delivering the hits. Left with a belly full of memories and a promise to return for more. Sussex, you've got my tastebuds hooked.