I’ll never forget the drive down to Devon last month – me behind the wheel of our battered old Volvo, sat-nav insisting we were nearly there, when suddenly a rogue sheep decided to play chicken on the narrow lanes near Axminster. I slammed the brakes, heart in my mouth, and there it was, staring me down like I’d personally offended its flock. We burst out laughing, spilling our pasties everywhere, but it set the tone for a holiday full of unexpected characters and proper chinwags.

Pulling up to the cosy little detached cottage, I felt that proper buzz of anticipation – you know, that tingle when you’ve escaped the grind and anything could happen. First impressions? Spot on. Tucked away in a quiet spot with views over rolling fields, it had this welcoming vibe, all homely and just right for unwinding. We dumped the bags and headed straight out for a wander, keen to soak it up.

First up was Reg, the chap at the nearby farm shop not five minutes down the lane. Bent double weeding his veg patch, he straightened up with a grin that split his weatherbeaten face. “You lot from up country?” he asked, eyeing our London plates. Turned out he’d been tending that patch since the war, and over a cuppa from his thermos, he regaled us with tales of the time a fox nicked his best prize marrow right before the village show. “Crafty bugger had more sense than half the judges,” he chuckled, his eyes twinkling. We left with armfuls of his wonky carrots and a belly laugh that lingered all afternoon.

Next day, strolling to the river – just a gentle walk away – we bumped into Dot at the tiny tea rooms. She’s the sort who runs the place like it’s her personal mission to feed the world. “Sit yerselves down, loves,” she bossed, plonking down scones thicker than my thumb. Over clotted cream (proper Devon style, mind), she launched into stories about her late husband’s fishing exploits. “Caught a monster pike once, big as me leg, but it slipped the net and swam off laughing.” We were in stitches, her mimicking the fish’s tail-flip so vividly I half-expected it to flop onto the table. Dot’s got this infectious energy, the kind that makes you forget your worries.

Evenings brought more gems. Chatting to old Tom over the garden fence one dusk – he lives next door, pops by with his whippet for a natter. He’s full of quirky wisdom, like how the best blackberries are the ones foxes leave alone. “They know quality,” he winked. Our chats meandered from local ghost sightings (a friendly one, apparently) to his failed attempt at keeping bees – “Stung me more times than I got honey!” It was these moments that made the holiday, really.

Reflecting on it now, sat back home with a cuppa, I realise it’s the people who turn a good break into a brilliant one. No posh tours or fancy eats needed – just proper folk sharing their world. Devon’s got that magic, doesn’t it? If you’re after a reset, find yourself a spot like that cottage and let the characters work their charm. We’re already plotting a return.