I’ll never forget the drive down to Dartmouth – what was meant to be a smooth three-hour jaunt from Bristol turned into a proper comedy of errors. Sat-nav decided to play silly buggers halfway through, rerouting us down some narrow Devon lanes that wouldn’t look out of place in a dodgy episode of Midsomer Murders. We ended up behind a tractor towing what looked like half a barn, crawling along at snail’s pace while the kids in the back moaned about needing the loo. By the time we spotted the sea glinting in the distance, I was gripping the wheel like it owed me money, but that first glimpse of the Dart estuary? Pure magic. Suddenly, all the faff felt worth it.

Pulling up to the place, heart racing with that proper holiday buzz – you know, the one where you imagine lazy mornings with coffee on the balcony overlooking the water – we hit another snag. The car park was tighter than a miser’s wallet, and in my haste to squeeze in, I gave the wing mirror a right wallop against a bollard. “Brilliant,” I muttered, hopping out to inspect the damage while my other half stifled a laugh. Still, as we lugged the bags up the steps, the anticipation bubbled over. Dartmouth’s right there, just a stone’s throw away, with its colourful boats bobbing in the harbour and that fresh, salty breeze hitting you full in the face.

Stepping inside this cosy two-bed apartment, I was chuffed to bits. It’s got that perfect holiday let vibe – light and airy, with big windows framing the estuary like a living postcard. The open-plan living space flows straight out to a sunny balcony, ideal for a cuppa while watching the ferries chug across to Kingswear. First impressions? Spot on. The kitchen was kitted out nicely, no faffing about with dodgy hobs, and the bedrooms were snug as a bug, with comfy beds that screamed “sleep in tomorrow.” We dumped the bags and cracked open a bottle of fizz right there on the balcony, toasting our chaotic arrival as the sun dipped low over the water. The kids were already plotting a dash to the pebbly beach below, and I could practically taste the fish and chips from the local spots down by the quay.

Of course, it got me reflecting a bit – here we were, mirrors bashed and tempers frayed, but that’s holidays for you, innit? It’s the mishaps that make the memories stick, turning a simple getaway into something you’ll chuckle about for years. We wandered down to the harbour that evening, grabbing pasties from a shack and letting the little ones paddle in the shallows. Dartmouth’s got this unpretentious charm – proper cream teas in quirky cafes, ice creams that drip faster than you can lick ’em, and those gentle estuary walks where you spot seals popping up like nosy neighbours. No need for grand plans; just pottering about, breathing it all in.

By bedtime, with the harbour lights twinkling outside, I was already plotting tomorrow’s ferry hop and a mooch around the boutique shops. If you’re after a laid-back Devon escape with estuary views and zero pretension, this is the ticket. Mishaps and all, it felt like home from the off. Can’t wait to go back.