I’ll never forget the drive down to North Devon – a proper faff from the motorway, dodging those narrow lanes that twist like a drunk snake. We’d set off full of beans, playlist blasting, but about halfway there, the sat-nav decided to have a hissy fit and sent us on a detour through some farmer’s field. Cue much laughing (and a bit of mild panic) as we reversed out of a muddy gateway. Still, by the time we rolled up to this cracking single-level holiday cottage just outside Woolacombe, the sun was dipping low, and any stress melted away. First impressions? Spot on. Tucked away with a lush garden rolling down towards the coast, it screamed “relax, you’ve earned this”. Perfect for mates or families, with that hot tub winking at us like an old friend.

We weren’t here to tick off a bucket list – no epic hikes or bungee jumps for us lot. Nah, the joy was in doing bugger all, proper slowing down. First morning, I cracked open a book I’d been meaning to read for months (some daft thriller that had me chuckling at the twists), plonked myself in a lounger in that garden, and let the sea breeze do the work. The hubbub of kids splashing in the hot tub nearby was the soundtrack – pure bliss, no agenda. Lunch was a lazy picnic of pasties from the village shop, scoffed under the parasol while we watched gulls wheel overhead. Who needs fancy when you’ve got that?

Afternoons blurred into siestas. One day, we wandered the two miles to Woolacombe Beach – that golden stretch of sand that’s all crashing waves and ice cream vans. But even there, it was low-key: toes in the surf, building lopsided sandcastles, then back for more garden lounging. The other half read her rom-com novel aloud, doing terrible accents that had us in stitches. “You’re a natural, love,” I quipped, before nodding off with a cuppa in hand. Evenings? Hot tub under the stars, bubbles fizzing, chatting about nothing much. No telly, no scrolling – just the distant roar of the sea and the odd bat flitting by.

There was this gentle moment one sunset, pint in hand, staring out over the garden as the light turned everything golden. I caught myself thinking, “Blimey, when did life get so frantic back home?” This place was a reset button – no rush, no plans, just being. We did pop to a beachfront café once for fish and chips overlooking the surf schools bobbing in the bay, but mostly, it was cottage inertia at its finest. Families with tots splashing nearby, mates unwinding – it suited us all down to the ground.

Packing up felt wrong, like leaving a mate’s house too early. If you’re after a holiday where the highlight is proper RandR, this North Devon gem’s your spot. Slow down, read that book, sink into the hot tub. You won’t regret it.