I’ll never forget the drive down to Thurlestone – a proper faff from the motorway, with our sat-nav deciding to take us on a scenic detour through some narrow lanes that had me white-knuckling the wheel. We’d packed the car to bursting with kids’ beach toys, cool bags stuffed with picnic bits, and enough snacks to feed a small army, only for the youngest to spill half a bag of crisps right as we hit the twisty bits near Salcombe. Cue five minutes of me swearing under my breath (well, quietly) while pulling over to hoover them up with a portable one. Still, by the time we crested that final hill, the anticipation was buzzing – those first glimpses of the sea sparkling in the distance had us all grinning like idiots.

Pulling up to the apartments, I was chuffed to bits. This superb modern development nods to the old local style without feeling stuffy, perched up high with cracking views straight across to Thurlestone village and out over the waves. Surrounded by 1.5 acres of shared landscaped grounds, it’s one of those spots where you step out and bam – Britain’s finest natural seaside setting hits you. Fine beaches just a short stroll away, and the coastal path right there, begging for a wander. Our place was spotless and comfy, perfect for a family flop after the road chaos.

First morning, we ambled down to Thurlestone Beach – golden sands, gentle waves lapping, and not a soul in sight early on. The kids built epic sandcastles while I sipped coffee from a thermos, watching seals bob about offshore. Lunch was simple fish and chips from the village, eaten on a rug with sand between our toes. Afternoon meant chaos in the best way: a paddle in the rock pools (one child emerged covered head-to-toe in seaweed, looking like a disgruntled mermaid), then back for a lazy barbecue on the patio, views stretching forever. That evening, we strolled the coastal path as the sun dipped, picking blackberries and dodging gorse bushes – pure cottage life magic, even if the thorns got my ankles.

One highlight was a family game of rounders on the grounds – total mayhem with the ball sailing into the hedges and the littlest one insisting on batting with a plastic spade. I had a proper moment there, sitting back with a cuppa, thinking how these scrappy, sun-soaked days are what recharge the batteries. Work stress? What work stress? It’s the simple stuff – brekkie with a sea breeze, evening stories with waves crashing below – that makes you realise you’ve been rushing life too much.

A couple of days in, we nipped to the village shop for cream teas (scones still warm, clotted cream divine), then more beach larks at South Milton Sands, just down the way. No grand plans, just pottering, reading paperbacks, and letting the kids run wild. The chaos of sandy towels everywhere and forgotten wellies was all part of it – reminded me why these breaks are gold dust for the soul. Left feeling utterly refreshed, already plotting a return. Devon does it right.