I’ll never forget the drive down to St Ives – what should’ve been a straightforward jaunt from the motorway turned into a proper comedy of errors. We’d set off full of beans, playlist blasting, kids in the back munching crisps, but then the sat-nav decided to have a midlife crisis. It rerouted us through some tiny lanes that felt more like goat tracks than roads, and just as we were white-knuckling it around a blind corner, a cheeky tractor lumbered out of nowhere. Cue emergency braking, a spilled bag of pasties flying everywhere, and me yelling “Hold on!” like I was in a dodgy action flick. The other half just laughed and said, “Welcome to Cornwall, love.” By the time we rolled into town, we were frazzled, covered in flaky pastry crumbs, and questioning our life choices.

But oh, pulling up to the place? Instant mood-lifter. There it was, this cool and contemporary apartment tucked away in just the right spot, all split levels and high ceilings that let the light pour in like it was showing off. We tumbled out of the car, still picking bits of sausage roll from our laps, and the first impressions hit like a warm pasty hug. Understated and stylish, with areas to flop together and little nooks to sneak off to – perfect for us lot, who can never decide if we want family chaos or a bit of peace.

Stepping inside felt like shedding the road rage in one go. The space was light-flooded and dead chill, ideal for kicking back after our arrival circus. We dumped the bags and immediately claimed the sofas, firing up one of the two Smart TVs with Netflix on tap. The kids zeroed in on the Nintendo Wii and games stash – thank goodness, as the Cornish drizzle was already smattering the windows. I paired my phone to the Bluetooth Bose system and Alexa speaker, blasting some tunes while we cracked open fizz. First impressions? Spot on. It was like the apartment knew we needed to unwind pronto.

That evening, we wandered down to Porthminster Beach, just a hop away, toes in the sand despite the grey skies, watching surfers carve the waves. Back for a lazy supper – I rustled up fish and chips from a local spot, eaten cross-legged on the floor like proper cavemen. Next day, we mooched to Carbis Bay for a swim in the sea pool, then poked around St Ives’ galleries, nipping into the Barbara Hepworth Museum for a culture fix. The high ceilings meant we could crank the music without it feeling cramped, and those split levels gave the kids their own den upstairs while we lounged below.

Looking back, that mishap-filled arrival was a right laugh, really – a gentle nudge that holidays aren’t about perfection, but rolling with the pasty crumbs and ending up somewhere brilliant. It made the whole stay feel even more special, like we’d earned those light-filled evenings and rainy-day Wii marathons. If you’re after a St Ives pad that nails the chill factor, this one’s a gem. We’re already plotting a return – minus the tractor, hopefully.