I’ll never forget the drive down to Kingsbridge – we’d packed the car to the brim with crisps, books and enough tea bags to last a siege, only for the sat-nav to chuck a wobbly just past Exeter. It rerouted us down some winding lane that felt like it hadn’t seen tarmac since the war, and there I was, white-knuckling the wheel while my other half dozed obliviously. A classic me-move, overthinking the journey when the real treat was just ahead. But as we crested the hill and spotted the estuary glittering below, all that stress melted away. Kingsbridge looked like a picture postcard, and pulling up to our quayside apartment, I could already feel the anticipation bubbling up – this was going to be proper bliss.

It’s one of those exclusive developments just outside the town centre, No. 4 on the first floor with a south-westerly aspect that means the sun pours in all afternoon. Modern as anything, but done with real elegance – think superb kitchen for knocking up lazy brunches, down-lighting that’s soft and flattering (vital for middle-aged complexions like mine), and wood-strip flooring that’s a joy underfoot. The views? Oh mate, straight out over the tidal estuary, watching boats bob and the water shift moods with the tide. We stepped inside and I just grinned – first impressions were spot on, like the place had been waiting for us.

The joy of it all was doing sod all, really. No grand plans, no ticking off lists. We’d amble along the waterside path into town for a pub lunch at one of the cracking little spots – maybe a pint and a ploughman’s at the Crabs – then wander back, picking up a paper from the newsagent. Most days, though, we barely stirred. I’d flop in the garden area with a GandT, feet up, watching gulls wheel over the water. The other half would bury her nose in a thriller, and I’d pretend to read the broadsheet but mostly just stare out, letting my mind drift. Slowing down like that – it’s rare for us city types. One afternoon, I caught myself nodding off mid-chapter, book slipping onto my lap, and had a proper moment of self-reflection: when did life get so frantic? Here, with the estuary lapping and nothing pressing, I felt properly human again. No guilt, just contentment.

Evenings were pure indulgence – firing up the kitchen for a simple pasta while the sunset turned the water pink, or nipping out for fish and chips from the takeaway near the shops, eaten on the balcony as the tide rolled in. We’d chat about nothing much, laugh at how we’d both packed too many clothes for lounging around. A gentle stroll to the bakery for fresh scones the next morning, then back to the sofa with coffee, estuary views our telly. It’s the small things that make Devon magic: the way the light dances on the water, the hush of the quay at dusk. We left feeling recharged, promising ourselves more of this nothing-much lark. If you’re after a holiday that’s all about unwinding in style, this corner of South Devon’s got it in spades.