I’ll never forget the drive down to Devon last month – we’d loaded up the car with enough snacks to feed a small army, kids buzzing in the back, and me navigating via a dodgy sat-nav that decided halfway through Torridge to throw a proper wobbly. It sent us down a narrow lane that pinched tighter than my jeans after Christmas dinner, branches scraping the roof like we were in a low-budget horror flick. Heart in mouth, we reversed out (thank goodness for reversing cams), and eventually stumbled onto the right track, arriving just as the sun dipped low over the hills. That little mishap had us laughing by the time we pulled up, anticipation bubbling – what hidden wonders were waiting?

First impressions? Blimey, spot on. This cosy cottage, tucked right next to the owners’ farmhouse in a peaceful nook, felt like stepping into a secret handshake with the countryside. Perfectly placed for Devon jaunts, with walks kicking off from the front door. We weren’t chasing the crowds; no, our holiday turned into a glorious game of getting lost on purpose, unearthing off-the-beaten-track gems that made the whole trip sparkle.

Day one, we wandered the short stroll to Peppercombe Cove – a proper unspoilt stunner, all rugged cliffs and pebbly shore where the only company was a cheeky seal popping up for a gawp. No bucket-and-spade frenzy here; just us poking around rock pools, kids shrieking with delight at tiny crabs scuttling about. Felt like we’d nicked a private slice of paradise. From there, we veered onto the South West Coast Path, but instead of sticking to the map, we took a wrong turn (or right one, depending how you look at it) down a faint sheep track. Ended up at this wildflower meadow I swear no one else knows about – butterflies dancing, buzzards wheeling overhead. Sat there with flasks of tea, pondering how life’s best bits often hide behind a bramble or two.

Next morning, fancying a change, we hopped in the car for Westward Ho! – that name still cracks me up – but ditched the main drags for Instow’s quieter stretches. Parked haphazardly and struck out along the dunes, getting gloriously muddled in the marram grass. Stumbled on a hidden creek where the tide had left a treasure trove of sea glass, smooth as silk. The kids filled their pockets, declaring themselves pirate archaeologists. Surf was up too, but we left that to the pros; our vibe was more amble-and-giggle.

Even outings with the little ones veered serendipitous. Aiming for The Big Sheep, we missed a turning (sat-nav’s fault again!) and found ourselves on a twisty byroad leading to a forgotten orchard, apples dangling like freebies. Picked a bagful, turned it into a crumble back at the cottage. Pub five minutes’ walk away became our evening ritual – a cheeky pint and pie, swapping tales of the day’s detours.

Reflecting on it now, over a cuppa back home, I reckon that’s the magic of these spots: embracing the lost moments, letting Devon whisper its secrets. No itineraries, just serendipity. We left with muddy boots, full bellies, and memories that’ll outlast any postcard. If you’re after proper escape, get yourself lost here – you won’t regret it.