I’ll never forget the drive down to Devon – we’d packed the car to the brim with kids’ beach toys, cool bags stuffed with picnic leftovers, and enough crisps to siege a castle. Halfway through Somerset, disaster struck: the sat-nav decided to throw a wobbly and sent us on a merry dance down some narrow lanes that wouldn’t look out of place in a dodgy episode of The Dukes of Hazzard. We ended up nose-to-nose with a tractor, hearts racing, while my other half tried to reverse us out without scraping the wing mirrors. Classic us, really – always turning a simple journey into an unintended adventure. But by the time we crested that final hill towards South Molton, the tension melted away. There it was, our little holiday barn, all cosy and welcoming under the North Devon sky, with rolling fields stretching out like a proper countryside hug. First impressions? Spot on. It felt like coming home, only better, with no mortgage nagging at you.

We’d been buzzing with anticipation on the approach – imagining lazy mornings with tea in the garden, the kids finally off the iPads and into proper outdoor mischief. And it didn’t disappoint. The barn’s got that perfect self-catering setup: a cracking kitchen for knocking up fry-ups, comfy sofas for collapsing after a day out, and bedrooms that slept us all without anyone kicking anyone else in the shins. It’s the sort of place that whispers “relax” from the moment you step inside, with its homely style that’s just right for a family crew like ours.

Days blurred into this blissful rhythm of simple pleasures. Mornings kicked off with porridge and blackberry picking from the wild bushes right by the garden – the kids turned into tiny foragers, faces smeared purple, declaring themselves the next Ray Mears. We’d wander the footpaths nearby, spotting sheep and the odd curious pony, breathing in that fresh Devon air that makes city lungs tingle. Afternoons meant lazy drives to South Molton’s market for fresh pasties and fudge – oh, the fudge! – then back for games of rounders in the field, with much shrieking and the inevitable lost ball in the hedge. One evening, we tried a family barbecue, but the wind had other ideas, sending sausages flying like misguided missiles. Chaos, pure cottage-life chaos, and we loved every second.

There were quieter moments too, like evenings on the patio with a GandT, watching the sunset paint the hills gold. That’s when I had a proper think – amid the joyful mess of sandy towels and half-eaten apples, how these unpolished days recharge you more than any spa break ever could. Us lot, bickering one minute, giggling the next, just being together without the usual rush. No grand plans, no Instagram perfection, just us pottering about in our Devon bubble.

By the end of the week, we were gutted to pack up, but already plotting our return. If you’re after that proper family unwind – the kind where time slows and worries bugger off – this corner of North Devon’s got the lot. Absolute gem.