I’ll never forget the drive down to Cornwall – that classic British holiday start with sat-nav playing silly buggers. We’d loaded up the car in Bristol with pasties from the petrol station and a thermos of tea, buzzing with that proper anticipation of salty sea air and no emails for a week. But halfway through Devon, the bloody thing rerouted us down some winding B-road because of “traffic ahead,” and next thing you know, we’re stuck behind a tractor doing 15mph, with cows eyeing us suspiciously over the hedge. I was fuming at first, but by the time we hit the A30, we were laughing about it – proper comedy gold, that.

Finally rolling into Carbis Bay just as the sun dipped low, my heart did a little flip. There it was: this charming ground-floor apartment, all cosy and inviting, with these stunning sea views straight out over St Ives Bay. You could see the waves crashing from the sofa – talk about first impressions that hit you right in the feels. It’s a hop, skip and jump from the beach too, those golden sands and crystal blue waters just begging for a paddle. We dumped the bags, cracked open a bottle of local cider, and just soaked it in. Perfect spot for unwinding, no faffing about with check-in queues.

But the real magic? Getting properly lost. Cornwall’s got that knack for it – one minute you’re on the main drag, next you’re stumbling on hidden gems by accident. First morning, we fancied a stroll to the beach but took a daft wrong turn up a skinny lane behind the apartment. Ended up at this tiny cove I’d never heard of, barely a soul there, just seals barking on the rocks and rock pools teeming with crabs. We spent hours poking about with improvised nets from an old carrier bag – felt like kids again, giggling as one nipped my finger.

Next day, aiming for St Ives, we veered off down a footpath marked “private” (naughty, I know). It spat us out at a secluded headland with views that knocked the socks off the tourist spots – gulls wheeling, wildflowers everywhere, and not a selfie stick in sight. Puffed out from the climb, we picnicked on cheese pasties from a hole-in-the-wall bakery we’d found the day before, watching fishing boats bob in the bay. Pure bliss.

Even got lost on the way back from Porthkidney Sands one evening – that stretch of dunes near Lelant is a maze if you don’t stick to the signs. Tripped over a smugglers’ path that led to an old tidal pool, all glassy and still at sunset. Sat there reflecting on how I never slow down at home – always rushing, ticking boxes. Here, getting lost forced me to breathe, to notice the little things like the heather buzzing with bees. Made me promise myself more of this back in the real world.

Those off-the-beaten-track finds turned a good holiday into a brilliant one. If you’re after peace without the crowds, wander off the map around here – you won’t regret it.