I’ll never forget the drive down to Cornwall – rain lashing the windscreen like it had a personal grudge, and then, just past Bodmin, the satnav decided to throw a wobbly and sent us down a muddy farm track that had us fishtailing like something out of a dodgy rally. Heart in my mouth, I was convinced we’d end up bogged down till Christmas, but we emerged, caked in splatter, laughing our heads off. By the time we rolled up to this cracking semi-detached lodge – three storeys of pure holiday bliss tucked away near St Columb Major – the sun had broken through, and honestly, first impressions? Magic. Perched in an exceptional spot with a spa, pool, restaurant, bar, and an Aqua Park that had the kids squealing before we’d even unpacked, it felt like we’d stumbled into our own little paradise. Dog-friendly too, with walks everywhere, and that mighty South West Coast Path just seven miles off if we fancied a proper leg-stretch.

But the real stars of the show? The locals. They’re a breed apart down here, full of yarns and quirks that make you feel like you’ve stepped into a sitcom. First evening, we wandered over to the on-site bar for a pint, and who’s holding court but this chap called Reg – proper old sea dog with a beard like a Brillo pad and stories longer than the tide. “You from up country, eh?” he winked, pulling a pint of Proper Job that could’ve stood a spoon in it. Turned out he’d fished these waters since before flip phones were a thing, and regaled us with tales of dodging seals off the nearby beaches near Winnards Perch. “One nipped me flipper once,” he chuckled, “cheeky blighter thought I was supper.” We were in stitches, and before we knew it, he’d roped us into a game of bar dominoes where the rules seemed to change with every hand. Proper character, Reg – the kind who makes you forget you’re on holiday and just settle into the craic.

Next morning at the restaurant breakfast, we met Doris, the waitress with a laugh like a foghorn and opinions on everything from pasties (must be from Philps in Newquay, no debate) to the best dog walks around St Columb. “Take yours down by the river,” she advised, piling on extra bacon for our spaniel. “You’ll spot otters if you’re quiet – mind, they’re shyer than my ex.” Her gentle ribbing had us chuckling over scrambled eggs, and she even slipped the kids tips for the Aqua Park slides, warning them about the “big whoosh” that’d soak their socks. Later, splashing about in the pool, we bumped into the barman, young lad called Jax with tattoos and a surfer vibe, who’d grown up in the village. “Fancy a venture to the beach?” he asked. “Porthcothan’s five minutes – sands like sugar, but watch the jellyfish, they’re party crashers this time of year.” We didn’t make it that day, too knackered from the spa steam room, but his easy chat made the place feel like home.

Reflecting on it now, sat here with a cuppa, I realise it’s these encounters that stick – not just the luxury setup, but the warmth of folk like Reg, Doris and Jax. They turned a rainy arrival into the kind of holiday that recharges your soul, full of daft laughs and proper connections. If you’re after a restful retreat with family, mates or the mutt, this Cornish gem’s got it all, quirks and all. Can’t wait to go back.