I’ll never forget the drive down to Beer in Devon – that classic British holiday road trip where everything’s going swimmingly until it isn’t. We’d set off from Bristol full of beans, sandwiches packed and the sat-nav promising a breezy two hours. But no, halfway through, the heavens opened, turning the A30 into a proper aquaplaning adventure. I gripped the wheel like my life depended on it, while my other half helpfully shouted directions from a soggy map app. We arrived a bit frazzled, but as we pulled up to this cracking two-bed apartment, all that stress melted away. What a first impression! Nestled right in the heart of the village, it screamed “great place for a holiday” – beautifully refurbished with a large open-plan living area perfect for couples or a small group, and that south-facing seating area plus enclosed garden? Absolute delight. I could already picture lazy afternoons there.

From the off, we decided this trip was all about doing bugger all – and boy, did it deliver. No grand itineraries, no ticking off coastal paths or pub crawls (though Beer’s got a couple of cracking ones just a stroll away if you fancy). Nah, we were here to slow right down, and the apartment made it effortless. That garden became our personal paradise – enclosed and sunny, with birdsong and the faint crash of waves from the nearby beach filtering in. I’d flop into one of the chairs with a pot of tea, cracking open a dog-eared paperback I’d been meaning to read for months. Hours vanished without me noticing; it was bliss.

Mornings were for gentle potterings – brewing coffee in the airy kitchen, then spilling out to the seating area with toast and the papers. The refurb meant everything felt fresh and inviting, no faffing about with dusty corners. Afternoons? More reading, maybe a cheeky nap under the garden parasol. One day, I caught myself staring at a butterfly flitting about, pondering how I never do this at home. Work’s always nagging – emails, deadlines, the lot – but here, time stretched out like warm toffee. It was a gentle nudge: why rush? There’s joy in the nothing.

Evenings brought a cosy glow to the open-plan space. We’d rustle up simple suppers – fish from the local shop, or pasties nabbed from the village bakery – then slump on the sofa with a bottle of wine, bingeing some rubbish telly. Laughter came easy; I nearly choked on my Pinot when my partner did a terrible impression of our sat-nav lady mid-rainstorm. No need to venture far – the pebble beach is literally minutes away for a desultory amble if the mood struck, picking up the odd fossil (Beer’s famous for them, after all), but mostly we stayed put, savouring the hush.

Looking back, it was the perfect antidote to life’s hustle. That little apartment in Beer taught me the art of proper loafing – garden lounging, page-turning, and just being. If you’re after a Devon escape that’s more chill than thrill, this is your spot. We’re already plotting a return.