I’ll never forget the drive down to Cornwall – we’d piled into the car in the pouring rain, full of excitement for our mates’ holiday, only for me to take a wrong turn just past Plymouth and end up on some narrow lane that had us white-knuckling it past hedges taller than the car. A classic me moment, but we laughed it off with crisps and a playlist of old indie tunes, and by the time we crested the hill towards Polbathic, the sun was peeking out over those lush, rolling hills. Spotting the cottage nestled in the countryside, my heart did a little flip – this was going to be proper.

It’s a cracking characterful home, perfect for our group of six, with three bedrooms and three bathrooms so no one’s queuing at dawn. Set among beautiful rolling countryside, it’s got a warming wood burner for cosy nights and a bubbling hot tub to soak up the outdoors before crashing out. First impressions? Spot on – we dumped the bags, cracked open a bottle of local cider, and got stuck into unpacking the groceries we’d nabbed from the farm shop en route.

Food was the absolute star of the trip, as it always is when you’ve got a kitchen begging to be used. Our first night, I fancied playing chef and attempted a proper Cornish pasty feast, using spuds and veg from a nearby market stall in St Germans – you know the ones, piled high with just-picked cauliflower and those knobbly heritage carrots. Mine turned out a bit lopsided, more rugby ball than crescent, but slathered in clotted cream (because why not?), they vanished in minutes amid roars of laughter. We huddled by the wood burner, swapping stories, and it felt like the perfect unwind.

Next day, we wandered to the local pub just down the lane – one of those timeless spots with beams low enough to duck and a chalkboard menu that had us drooling. Fish and chips done in beef dripping, naturally, with mushy peas that were spot-on. I went for the seafood platter, loaded with plump prawns and fresh mackerel straight from the coast, and we washed it down with a pint of ale from a St Austell brewery. The landlord even slipped us some insider tips on the best pasty shops within a couple of miles. Pub grub doesn’t get better; it’s hearty, unpretentious, and hits the spot after a damp coastal walk.

We hit up a farmers’ market midweek too – tiny but brilliant, with stalls groaning under pies, saffron buns, and cheeses that smelled like heaven. Armed with sausages and a slab of Stilton, I tried my hand at a fry-up the next morning. Let’s just say the black pudding was a triumph, but my attempt at perfect poached eggs? A wobbly disaster that had everyone in stitches. Still, cooking together like that, with the hot tub waiting outside and countryside views through the window, made it all the more fun.

Reflecting on it now, as we drove home with full bellies and fuller hearts, I realised it’s these daft kitchen experiments and pub crawls that make a holiday stick. No fancy restaurants needed – just good mates, local grub, and a cracking Cornish cottage. Can’t wait to go back for more.