I’ll never forget the drive down to Newlyn on the South Cornwall coast – our little group adventure kicking off with a classic Cornish welcome. We’d piled into the car in Penzance, full of beans after grabbing pasties from the bakery on the high street, when disaster struck just five minutes in: a rogue seagull dive-bombed the windscreen, splattering it with what looked like the remnants of its lunch. Cue hysterical laughter and a frantic stop at the nearest services for wipes. “That’s Cornwall telling us to slow down already,” I joked, scraping off the mess while the others cracked up.

By the time we rolled up to the stylish and spacious home, the anticipation had us buzzing. Perched with those cracking sea views, it had warming wood burners and its own private hot tub overlooking the ocean – proper luxury without the fuss. First impressions? Blown away. The place just wrapped you in that cosy, “ahh, we’ve arrived” hug. We dumped the bags and cracked open a bottle of local Rattler cider on the terrace, watching fishing boats bob in Mount’s Bay as the sun dipped low.

But honestly, the real joy of the whole trip was doing bugger all. After years of rushing about like headless chickens back home, this was my gentle nudge to proper slow down. Lazy cottage days became the norm – mornings in the garden, feet up on a lounger, sipping tea and losing myself in a battered paperback I’d brought along. The sea air was thick with salt and that faint fishy tang from Newlyn harbour, just a short stroll away, but who needed to go far? We’d potter out to the garden for a nose around the flowers buzzing with bees, then flop back with a picnic of cheese from the Mousehole deli – creamy Cornish Yarg that melted on the tongue.

Afternoons blurred into hot tub sessions, bubbles churning as we gazed at the waves crashing below. No grand plans, just the odd amble to the beach at low tide for a paddle, or nipping to the Jubilee Pool in Penzance for a cheeky dip if the mood took us. Evenings? Lighting the wood burner, curling up with a blanket and a good murder mystery, while the others dozed off to the sound of gulls. One night, staring into the flames, I had a proper moment of self-reflection: when did life get so frantic? Here, time stretched out like the horizon – no emails, no deadlines, just the simple bliss of being.

We did venture once to the harbour for fresh fish and chips wrapped in paper, eaten on a bench overlooking the boats, but mostly it was garden lounging, reading till my eyes ached, and that delicious nothing-much-at-all feeling. Leaving felt like cutting short a dream, but I drove home lighter, vowing to bottle that slowness for the daily grind. Cornwall, you sneaky genius – you’ve got me hooked on the art of faffing about in paradise.