I’ll never forget the drive down to Torcross – a proper faff from the start. We’d set off from Exeter full of beans, sandwiches packed and the sat-nav chirping away, but halfway through Dartmoor the heavens opened and some numpty in a caravan decided to jackknife right in front of us. Cue an hour’s delay, me gripping the wheel like my life depended on it, and the kids in the back moaning about needing the loo. By the time we rolled into that gorgeous little village, I was knackered, but oh, the anticipation was bubbling up. What if it was as idyllic as the photos promised?

Pulling up to the spot right on the beach in beautiful Torcross, my heart did a little flip. It’s a collection of lovely apartments overlooking the three-mile stretch of shingle and crystal clear waters of the bay beyond – our one was perfect, cosy and inviting, with that unbeatable sea view from every window. First impressions? Spot on. We dumped the bags, cracked open a bottle of fizz on the balcony, and just drank it all in. The waves lapping, gulls wheeling overhead – it was like the world had hit pause.

That first evening set the tone: doing sod all, and loving every minute. No grand plans, no rushing about. The garden down below was a dream – wildish and tucked away, with a couple of benches begging you to flop down with a book. I spent hours there the next day, feet up, lost in a battered paperback thriller while the tide crept in. The kids pottered off to poke around the shingle, collecting pebbles and skim stones, but mostly they just mooched, which suited me fine. Slowing down like that – it’s a rare treat, isn’t it? Back home I’m always chasing my tail, emails pinging, deadlines looming. Here, time stretched out lazy as a cat in the sun.

Mornings blurred into afternoons of pure indolence. Brew a coffee, wander out to the garden with the papers (signal was iffy, but who cares?), and settle in. The sea air does wonders – salty and invigorating, but somehow soporific too. One day I managed a gentle stroll along the beach to the little Start Bay café, just a five-minute amble away, for a cream tea that was pure heaven: scones still warm, clotted cream thicker than my accent. Sat there watching fishing boats bob, feeling properly content. No hikes up to Salcombe or trips to Dartmouth – that’s for another time. This was about the joy of bugger all: reading till my eyes ached, napping in the deckchair, maybe a dip in the sea if I felt energetic (which I didn’t, much).

There was a moment, mid-week, staring out at the bay as the sun dipped low, when it hit me. I’m knackered from life’s treadmill – always striving, rarely stopping. Torcross was my gentle nudge: it’s okay to just be. We left feeling recharged, not from ticking boxes, but from those delicious, do-nothing days. If you fancy switching off proper, you know where to head.