I’ll never forget the drive down to Devon – we’d packed the car to the gills with wellies, board games and enough crisps to siege a castle, only for the sat-nav to chuck us into a cheeky detour through some narrow lanes that had me white-knuckling the wheel. “Are we lost?” my partner quipped, as a tractor loomed up behind us like an impatient dinosaur. Turned out it was just Devon's way of saying hello, and by the time we rolled up, my heart was doing that excited flutter you get before a proper getaway.

Pulling into the spot, we were gobsmacked – this charming cottage sat bang in the middle of picturesque countryside, one of four barn conversions that felt like a little hidden village just for us. Shared luxury facilities like a swish indoor pool and games room? Yes please. It was the perfect home from home for our relaxed couple break, though with the kids in tow it quickly turned into organised chaos. Broadhempston village was a hop away, with its two cracking pubs and a wee store for emergency milk runs. First impressions? Spot on – the place wrapped us in that cosy, 'ahh, we're here' vibe straight away.

We wasted no time diving into cottage life. Mornings kicked off with brekkie on the patio, watching mist lift off the surrounding moors while the kids dashed about on the rambling footpaths right from the door. One day we wandered those paths, spotting ponies grazing and butterflies flitting about – pure magic, though I did have a dad-dance moment tripping over a tussock and landing in a patch of nettles. Laughed it off with a pub lunch at the Old Inn in the village, where the ploughman's was spot-on and the locals chatted like we'd known them forever.

Afternoons were for lazy potterings. A short drive to Paignton Zoo – just 8.5 miles – had the little ones (and us, if I'm honest) cooing over cheeky meerkats and lolloping giraffes. We'd pile back for dips in the shared pool, the steam rising as we splashed about, pretending we were pros at table tennis in the games room. Evenings? Simpler pleasures ruled: firing up the barbecue for bangers and spuds, then curling up with a bottle of red and a daft film, the countryside humming outside.

Torquay's harbour, a quick 10.5 miles jaunt, called for a meander one sunny afternoon – yachts bobbing, ice creams dripping, and that sea air doing wonders. We skipped the big beaches for Blackpool Sands nearer Dartmouth, but honestly, the real joy was the cottage rhythm: the clatter of family meals, the unexpected rain drumming on the roof forcing us into board game marathons (Monopoly nearly caused a divorce), and those quiet moors walks where you'd hear nothing but birdsong.

Reflecting on it now, sat back home with the laundry mountain, I realise it's the small stuff that sticks – that sense of unplugging amid Devon's gentle chaos. No grand plans, just us, a cracking cottage, and South Devon's simple charms. Can't wait to go back.