I’ll never forget the drive down to Newton Tracey – what should’ve been a straightforward jaunt from the M5 turned into a proper comedy of errors. Satnav decided to play silly buggers just past Exeter, rerouting us down some winding back lane that felt like it hadn’t seen tarmac since the war. We ended up behind a tractor trundling along at snail’s pace, with my other half yelling directions from her phone while I gripped the wheel, convinced we’d miss check-in. By the time we spotted the handsome Georgian manor peeking through the trees in this idyllic little village, we were frazzled, covered in crisp crumbs from a hasty service station lunch, and already questioning our life choices. But oh, the anticipation had been building all week – visions of cream teas and coastal walks dancing in our heads.

Pulling into the drive, though, all that stress melted away like clotted cream on a scone. This beautiful holiday home, tucked into the manor itself, hit us with the most smashing first impressions. Peaceful doesn’t even cover it – just the gentle rustle of leaves and birdsong, four miles from Barnstaple but feeling a world away in its rural haven. We tumbled out of the car, bags spilling everywhere (another mishap – I’d packed like we were off to the Arctic), and there it was: welcoming lights glowing in the windows, flower baskets nodding hello. Stepping inside, we were greeted by that cosy, lived-in charm you crave on holiday – plump sofas begging for a collapse, a kitchen that screamed family feasts, and bedrooms with views over rolling fields that made you breathe deeper.

That first evening, after unpacking our chaos, we cracked open a bottle of local cider and just soaked it in. The place felt like a hug from an old mate – perfect for our lot, with space for the kids to run amok without driving us mad. I had a quiet moment on the terrace, watching the sun dip low, reflecting on how these little getaways remind you to slow down. Work’s been manic lately; I’ve been that bloke glued to emails even on Sundays. Here, though? No signal stress, just us.

Next morning, we wandered down to the popular inn a couple of miles away – a right gem for a fry-up and pints later. Barnstaple’s just a short hop, with its buzzing shops, ace cafés, and that tidal River Taw sparkling nearby for a gentle stroll. We didn’t venture far that first day; the property’s spot had us hooked, luring us into lazy games of cards and paddling in a nearby stream. Sure, the arrival was a right faff, but it made those first impressions all the sweeter – like the universe’s way of saying, “Settle in, you’ve earned this.” North Devon’s magic was right on our doorstep, and we were already plotting beach days at spots like Westward Ho!, but honestly, who needs to rush when paradise is home?