I’ll never forget the drive down to Dartmouth – we’d packed the car to the gills with kids’ toys, wellies, and enough snacks to feed a small army, only for the satnav to chuck us into a cheeky diversion through some narrow lanes that had me white-knuckling the wheel. Just as I was convinced we’d end up in a hedge, we popped out right by the River Dart, the sun glinting off the water like it was rolling out the red carpet. Heart racing but grinning like idiots, we finally pulled up, buzzing with that proper holiday anticipation.

The place was a proper gem – a two-storey duplex apartment called Diddly Squat, which had us chuckling from the off. Perfect setup for us lot: me, my other half, and our two lads who are well past the toddler tantrum stage. It’s got this cracking Juliet balcony with views straight towards the Dart that make you want to park up with a cuppa and just stare. First impressions? Spot on. We dumped the bags, cracked open the windows to that salty sea air, and the chaos of unpacking felt like the best kind of homecoming.

We settled into proper cottage life straight away, the sort of relaxed family break where days blur into lazy bliss. Mornings kicked off with brekkie on the balcony – toast slathered in marmalade, watching little boats chug along the river, while the boys argued over who spotted the first seagull. We wandered down to Dartmouth’s little harbour, no more than a stroll away, grabbing pasties from the bakery that were still warm and flaky, proper Devon fuel. The kids dashed about on the pebble beach at Sugary Cove, building wonky sandcastles that the tide cheekily flattened, and we adults pretended not to notice the sand ending up in our undies.

Afternoons were for ambling along the quay, dodging day-trippers and nicking ice creams from the van – mint choc chip for me, every time. One evening, we even hopped on the little passenger ferry across to Kingswear, just five minutes over the water, puffing along with the breeze in our hair. Back at the flat, we’d rustle up simple suppers – fish and chips from the local chippy, eaten picnic-style on the balcony as the sun dipped behind the hills. The boys turned the living room into a den with cushions and torches, whispering ghost stories till they conked out.

There was this one moment of gentle self-reflection as I sat there one dusk, pint in hand, listening to the river lap below. Life at home’s all rush and deadlines, but here? It’s the simple stuff – the shared laughs over spilt milk, the unplanned paddles in the shallows – that remind you what matters. We had our share of cottage chaos too: a rogue seagull nicking a sausage off the boys’ plates mid-bbq (cue hysterical shrieks), and me locking myself out on the balcony once, waving like a loon till someone let me back in. Hilarious in hindsight, mortifying at the time.

By the end of the week, we were proper gutted to pack up, but buzzing with memories of that unhurried Devon magic. If you’re after a chilled family escape with river views and zero pretension, this is your spot. We’re already plotting a return – next time, I’m bringing a better satnav.