We’d barely been on the road an hour when the satnav decided to send us down a lane so narrow the wing mirrors practically kissed the hedges. I was convinced we’d end up reversing into someone’s driveway, but somehow we popped out right by the little turning for Lundy View Chalet. The relief was instant; the sea air hit us the moment the doors opened, carrying that unmistakable mix of salt and cut grass that always makes you breathe a bit deeper.

The chalet itself looked exactly like the photos, only better because it was real and waiting for us. Wooden steps led up to a deck scattered with a couple of folding chairs, and from there the view rolled straight down to the dunes and the strip of sand that was already dotted with a few hardy families. Our youngest made a beeline for the garden gate before we’d even unpacked the car, and I couldn’t blame him; the beach was close enough that you could hear the waves if you stood still.

Inside, everything felt easy. The living space opened straight onto that deck, so the line between indoors and out barely existed. A squashy sofa faced the big window, perfect for watching the light change over the water, and the kitchenette had just enough room for someone to make toast while someone else buttered it at the table. We’d brought a few bits from home, but the little shop in the village was only a short stroll away if we ran out of milk or fancied proper Cornish pasties for tea.

That first afternoon we didn’t do much at all, which turned out to be the point. We wandered down to the sand with a blanket and a thermos, letting the kids chase the edge of the tide while we sat and did nothing in particular. Every so often a dog would trot past with its owner, both of them looking equally pleased to be there. Later, back at the chalet, we grilled a few sausages on the little barbecue that came with the place, the smell drifting across the dunes until the light started to fade.

It was only when we were clearing up that I caught myself checking my phone out of habit, then put it away again without even opening an app. There’s something about arriving somewhere so straightforward that makes you notice how often you reach for distractions without really needing them. Standing on the deck with a mug of tea, listening to the last waves and the occasional laugh from further along the beach, I realised the mishap on the lane had been the best possible start; it had forced us to slow down before we’d even arrived.

By the time we turned in, the chalet already felt like ours for the week. The beds were made, the kettle was ready for morning, and outside the sky was doing that soft, lingering twilight that Cornwall seems to specialise in. We didn’t need grand plans; the beach was right there, the deck was waiting, and for the next few days that was going to be more than enough.