I’ll never forget the drive down to that seven-bedroom country house on the edge of Lanivet – it was meant to be a straightforward jaunt from the M5, but no, I took a wrong turn near Bodmin and ended up on some winding lane that had me white-knuckling the wheel past a flock of sheep who looked as baffled as I felt. Still, by the time we pulled up, the anticipation was buzzing; the lakeside spot with its fishing and tennis courts peeking through the trees had us grinning like kids. First impressions? Bloody brilliant – or rather, absolutely smashing. Stepping into that open-plan living area felt like a hug from an old mate: plush sofas begging you to flop down with the telly on, a sunny conservatory for a sneaky read, and a kitchen so kitted out you half expected Gordon Ramsay to pop out.

We were a big group – family and mates – and from the off, it was all about the food. That first evening, I fancied myself as head chef, raiding the massive fridge we’d stocked en route. Whipped up a Cornish pasty feast with proper local spuds and clotted cream on the side, all devoured round the huge table while we swapped stories. Mind you, my attempt at a cream tea the next morning was a right comedy – scones came out more like hockey pucks, but slathered in jam from a quick scoot to the village shop, they went down a treat. Laughing about it now, I reckon that’s the gentle nudge I needed; back home I’m always rushing meals, but here it made me slow down and actually enjoy pottering about the kitchen.

Day two, we hit up the Eden Project’s food market just a short hop away – none of that far-flung nonsense, kept it local. Picked up fresh mackerel from the fish stall, artisan cheeses that could make you weep, and veg so vibrant it practically hummed. Back at the house, barbie on the go with those lake views – couldn’t ask for better. Evenings meant pub crawls within spitting distance; the St Kew Inn down the road does a cracking pint and their Sunday roast is legend – melt-in-the-mouth beef, Yorkshire puds the size of saucers, and gravy that’s pure magic. We stumbled back stuffed, vowing to walk it off with a spot of tennis the next day (which, predictably, turned into more lounging by the water).

One night, I tried poshing it up with a seafood linguine using mussels from the local fishmonger in Bodmin – garlic, chilli, a splash of white from the offy. Turned out half decent, if I say so myself, and we polished it off in the conservatory as the sun dipped. Reflecting on it, holidays like this remind you food’s not just fuel; it’s the thread that ties everyone together, mishaps and all. We left fatter, happier, and already plotting the next trip for more of Cornwall’s grubby glories. If you’re after a luxury bolt-hole where the eating’s as good as the company, this is your spot.