I’ll never forget the drive down to Teignmouth – one of those classic British road trips where everything starts so promisingly. We piled into the car in the grey drizzle of a Monday morning, kids buzzing with excitement about pasties and beach buckets, me navigating with a dodgy phone signal and a thermos of tea. About halfway through Dartmoor, disaster struck: a rogue sheep decided our lane was prime grazing, and we ended up in a five-car conga line behind a farmer herding it back to safety. Half an hour lost, but honestly, it was the perfect icebreaker for family singalongs to nudge into the 90s hits. By the time we hit the coast, the sun was peeking out, and my heart lifted at the sight of the estuary sparkling like it does in those postcards.

Pulling up to the place had me grinning ear to ear. One of a handful of premium properties in the exclusive Grand Banks development, this first-floor Estuary View flat was just the ticket – sleek and comfy with access to an on-site gym (which we mostly ignored in favour of ice creams) and an easy stroll to the town’s best beaches, shops, and restaurants. First impressions? Spot on. The views over the water from the balcony were mesmerising, and after lugging cases up the stairs (note to self: pack lighter next time), we cracked open the windows to that salty sea air. It felt like instant holiday mode.

The week unfolded in that gloriously chaotic cottage-life way – well, flat-life, but you get me. Mornings kicked off with brekkie chaos: burnt toast, arguments over the last Weetabix, and the littlest one smearing jam everywhere. Then we’d amble down to Teignmouth’s sands, just a ten-minute wander, building wonky sandcastles that inevitably collapsed under the tide’s cheeky advance. I had one of those dad moments watching them shriek with laughter – makes you reflect on how these simple bits, the sandy toes and shared giggles, are what recharge the batteries more than any fancy spa.

Afternoons were for mooching: popping into the quirky shops for rock sweets and fudge, or grabbing fish and chips from a beachfront hut, eaten straight from the paper while dodging seagulls with evil eyes. One evening, we wandered to a cosy Italian just up the road – pasta that hit the spot after a day’s paddling. The gym got a cursory visit (ten minutes on the treadmill before I spied the kids waving from the balcony), but mostly it was about unwinding. Evenings brought board games that descended into hilarious rows, and curling up with a film as the estuary lights twinkled outside.

There was gentle chaos too – like the time the washing machine decided mid-cycle it was a drum kit, flooding the utility room. We mopped up laughing, turning it into a splash fight. It’s these unpolished moments that make family breaks magic, isn’t it? No grand adventures, just the rhythm of tides, cream teas scoffed on the promenade, and that profound contentment of doing nowt much at all. Teignmouth worked its charm on us; we left sunburnt, sandy, and already plotting a return. If you’re after relaxed Devon vibes, this is your spot.