I’ll never forget the drive down to Bodmin Parkway – we’d rented a car at the station, full of excitement for our Cornish getaway, but about halfway there, I took a wrong turn onto some narrow moorland lane. The satnav went haywire, and we ended up dodging sheep like it was a video game, laughing our heads off as the kids shouted “Mum, you’re going to hit a lamb!” Twenty minutes later, we were back on track, hearts racing but buzzing with that proper holiday anticipation. What a start!

Pulling up to our single-storey barn conversion felt like stumbling into a hug from an old mate. It’s this fabulous dog-friendly hideaway, perfect for us – two bedrooms for me, the husband, our two little ones, and the spaniel – with a cracking hot tub out back. First impressions? Spot on. Cosy, welcoming, and right in the heart of it all, just minutes from Bodmin’s high street. We dumped the bags and headed straight out for a nose around.

Food’s what made this trip, honestly. Bodmin’s got this unpretentious vibe – proper local grub without the fuss. First night, we wandered into the Hole in the Wall pub, one of those timeless spots tucked away on the edge of town. Pints of Proper Job for us, squash for the kids, and plates piled high with battered cod, chunky chips, and mushy peas that tasted like they’d been made by someone’s nan. The dog curled up under the table, eyeing the scraps. We demolished it all, chatting with locals about the best pasty spots. “Try the market tomorrow,” one bloke said, winking.

Next morning, Bodmin Market was a revelation – just four miles from the barn, but feels like stepping into Cornwall’s larder. Stalls groaning under fresh crab, plump strawberries from nearby farms, and those massive Devon-esque pasties stuffed with steak and spuds. I grabbed a couple for lunch, plus some local cheeses that were so creamy they nearly didn’t make it home. Back at the barn, I fancied myself a chef – fired up the oven for a “gourmet” pasty bake, chucking in extra veg from the market. Disaster struck when I overdid the pastry; it came out like a brick. The husband took one bite, pulled a face, and quipped, “Love, this could double as a doorstop.” We howled with laughter, the kids feeding bits to the dog, and ended up ordering fish and chips from a takeaway instead. Humble pie – or should I say pasty – tastes better with family.

Evenings were for pub-hopping. The London Inn nearby did the best Sunday roast – juicy roast beef, Yorkshire puds like clouds, and gravy you could swim in. We’d soak it up after moorland walks, the hot tub waiting like a reward. One night, I tried cooking again: a simple crab salad with market-fresh lemon and herbs. Nailed it this time, served on the patio with cider from a Bodmin brewery. Sat there reflecting as the sun dipped – amid the food fails and feasts, it hit me how these little moments, messy and shared, are what recharge the soul. Couldn’t recommend a foodie jaunt like this more – Bodmin’s eats had us hooked.