I’ll never forget the drive down to Devon – we’d packed the car to the brim with wellies, a cool bag of picnic bits, and enough board games to last a nuclear winter. My wife Sarah was navigating on her phone, but halfway through the wilds of Somerset, we took a wrong turn and ended up on some narrow lane that looked like it hadn’t seen tarmac since the war. Cue 20 minutes of reversing round blind bends with hedges scraping the mirrors – classic us, turning a three-hour journey into a comedy of errors. But as we finally crested the hill into Mid Devon, the stress melted away. There it was: this luxurious barn conversion nestling right on the edge of a family-run farm, bang in the heart of the countryside. The anticipation had been building all week, and honestly, first impressions? Spot on. Sun dipping low over rolling fields, sheep ambling about like they owned the place, and our little home for the week looking ever so welcoming with its cosy glow.

We were there for a proper relaxed couple’s break – no kids, no agenda, just us two soaking up the simple pleasures of cottage life. Unpacking was the usual chaos: I managed to spill half a bag of teabags across the kitchen floor, and Sarah spent ten minutes hunting for her favourite mug that I’d buried under a pile of jumpers. Laughing about it over a cuppa, we felt that gentle tug of self-reflection – you know, how we’re always rushing about at home, but here? Time just slows down. Perfect.

The location was a dream for pottering about. Right on our doorstep were loads of lovely walks – we’d set off after brekkie, meandering through lanes lined with Devon’s lush hedges, spotting buzzards overhead and the odd tractor chugging past. One morning, we wandered down to the nearby village of Morchard Bishop, just a short stroll away. Popped into the community store for fresh eggs and milk – proper farm-fresh stuff that made our fry-ups legendary – then settled in the family-run pub for a pint of local ale and a game of dominoes with the locals. No pretensions, just that warm pub vibe where everyone knows your name after five minutes.

Slightly further out, Crediton’s market town charm had us hooked. We timed it for the bustling farmers’ market, grabbing artisan cheeses, homemade fudge, and a loaf still warm from the oven. Tiverton was another gem, barely a hop away – we wandered the country park along the canal, watching narrowboats glide by, then poked around the castle and museum. Felt like stepping back in time, but with ice creams to keep it light-hearted.

Evenings were pure bliss: firing up the barbecue on the patio (with only minor singeing of sausages), then curling up with a bottle of wine and a film, listening to the farm sounds outside. Days blurred into lazy rambles, cream teas at Bickleigh Mill, and a National Trust jaunt to Killerton for its gardens – all without straying far. It was chaotic in the best way – a lost welly here, a rain-shower picnic there – but that’s the magic of Devon cottage life. We came home recharged, promising ourselves more of it. If you’re after that easy, heartfelt escape, this spot’s got it in spades.