I’ll never forget the drive down to Salcombe – that classic British holiday trek where the sat-nav decides to play silly buggers just as you hit the twisty Devon lanes. We’d loaded up the car with enough snacks to feed a small army (crisps, pork scratchings, and a suspicious amount of chocolate digestives), and about 20 minutes from our destination, the heavens opened. Proper biblical rain, turning the windscreen into a waterfall. Hubby was gripping the wheel like it was a lifeline, muttering about “one-way systems from hell,” while I frantically dabbed at the fog with a tea towel. We arrived a soggy mess, but honestly, that little mishap just made the anticipation sweeter – hearts racing, wondering if this place would live up to the hype.

Pulling into the designated parking spot right outside was a godsend, especially in a town as fiddly as Salcombe. Stepping into this stylish ground-floor apartment in an elegant Victorian house bang in the heart of it all, we were gobsmacked. It’s the sort of spot perfect for two, with a massive king-size bedroom that screamed “sleep like babies” and a contemporary open-plan living space that felt like a cosy hug. Best bit? Those estuary views from the windows – sparkling water, boats bobbing about, making you forget the M5 crawl in an instant. First impressions? Spot on. We dumped the bags, cracked open a bottle of local gin, and just breathed it all in.

Salcombe’s got that magic for a relaxed family break, even if ours is just the two of us pretending we’re still young and carefree. Mornings kicked off with lazy brews in the living area, gazing out at the tide rolling in, then a short stroll to grab fresh pasties from the bakery on the high street. We’d wander down to the waterfront, dodging the posh yacht crowd, and flop on the beach at low tide – Whitestrand or South Sands, picking over rock pools like proper kids. One afternoon, I slipped on some seaweed trying to skim stones (graceful as ever), which had us in stitches, covered in sand and loving every chaotic second of cottage life.

Evenings were pure bliss: fish and chips from the quay, eaten picnic-style back at the apartment with the windows flung open to the sea air. We ambled to a couple of the little restaurants nearby – nothing fancy, just cracking seafood and a cheeky glass of white. There was this one moment, sitting on the balcony bit with the sun dipping behind the cliffs, when I caught myself reflecting: life’s mad rush back home feels miles away here. We’re not influencers snapping perfect shots; we’re just two daft souls savouring the simple stuff – salty breezes, shared laughs over burnt toast (my speciality), and that unhurried Devon rhythm.

It’s the chaos of unpacking a boot full of mismatched beach gear, the joy of no alarm clocks, and those estuary sunsets that make a stay like this unforgettable. If you’re after a chilled-out bolt hole that’s steps from shops, eateries, and the water’s edge, this is it. We left knackered but buzzing, already plotting the next trip. Salcombe, you’ve got our hearts.