I’ll never forget the drive down to Thurlestone – we’d packed the car to bursting with kids’ beach toys, cool bags, and enough snacks to feed a small army, only for the sat-nav to chuck us into a cheeky detour through some narrow lanes that had me white-knuckling the wheel. Just as I was starting to mutter about why we didn’t leave earlier, we rounded a bend and there it was: the sea sparkling under a proper Devon sky. Heart lifted, we trundled on, anticipation bubbling up as we spotted the village sign. Half a mile later, we pulled into the allocated parking spot outside this cracking luxurious penthouse apartment, nestled in lovely landscaped gardens. First impressions? Blimey, it was a stunner – sleek, modern inside with all the high-spec kit you could want, yet just a few minutes’ stroll from the beach and that cracking South West Coast Path. We dumped the bags and cracked open a cider on the balcony, grinning like idiots.

The next few days slipped into that perfect holiday rhythm – the kind where time stretches out lazy and golden. Mornings kicked off with brekkie chaos in the kitchen: me flipping pancakes while the little ones squabbled over who got the biggest dollop of Nutella, and my other half trying (and failing) to make a decent cuppa without scalding herself. We’d wander down to Thurlestone beach, buckets in hand, building wonky sandcastles that inevitably got flattened by the tide or an overenthusiastic wave. The kids loved it, charging into the shallows yelling about finding buried treasure, while I’d flop on a towel with a book, sneaking glances at the horizon where the sea meets the sky.

Afternoons were for ambling along the Coast Path – nothing too strenuous, just enough to work up an appetite. We’d spot seals bobbing offshore (or were they just driftwood? The kids swore they were seals), and pick blackberries along the way for a half-hearted crumble later. Back at the apartment, it was all about those simple joys: firing up the barbecue on the patio for sausages and baps, the smoky smell mingling with salt air, while the kids ran riot in the gardens until their eyes drooped. One evening, we even managed a family board game night – Monopoly, naturally, which descended into giggles and mild cheating accusations. Pure cottage life pandemonium, penthouse style.

There was a quiet moment one sunset, sat on the balcony with a GandT, watching the kids finally knackered out on the sofa. I caught myself thinking how these bits – the sand in the bedsheets, the burnt toast, the shared laughs – are what recharge the batteries more than any fancy spa day. No grand adventures, just us lot soaking up Devon’s gentle magic. Thurlestone’s got that unpretentious charm; it’s the sort of place that makes you forget the daily grind. If you’re after a relaxed family break with a dash of luxury and heaps of beachy bliss, you can’t go wrong round here. We’re already plotting our return.