I’ll never forget the drive down to Devon last month – what was meant to be a smooth three-hour jaunt from Bristol turned into a proper comedy of errors. Sat-nav decided to play silly buggers just past Exeter, rerouting us down a narrow lane that felt more like a goat track than a road. We ended up in a queue behind a tractor chugging along at snail’s pace, with hedges so close they were brushing the wing mirrors. My other half was gripping the dashboard, muttering about missing the sunset, while I was trying not to laugh as our packed boot rattled with pasties and crisps we’d grabbed en route. By the time we spotted the sea glinting in the distance near Dawlish, we were frazzled but buzzing with that holiday anticipation – you know, the kind where everything ahead feels like pure promise.

Finally rolling up to the property, hearts racing a bit from the chaos, we were gobsmacked by the first impressions. It’s one of those cosy terraced cottages right in the heart of Dawlish, with a cute little patio that screams lazy mornings with a cuppa. The style’s all classic seaside charm – think welcoming porch light flickering on as dusk fell, and those big windows begging you to fling open the curtains and breathe in the salty air. We tumbled out of the car, arms full of bags, only for the front door key to stick in the lock like it was auditioning for a farce. A good five minutes of jiggling later (with me blaming the humidity and her blaming my butterfingers), we burst in, and oh mate, it was worth every second.

Inside, it unfolded like a hug from an old mate – spacious open-plan living area with sofas that practically swallowed you whole, perfect for flopping after the drive. The kitchen was a dream, all gleaming and stocked with everything you’d need for a fry-up, though we went straight for fish and chips from the local spot down the road. First impressions? Spot on. Waking up to the sound of waves from the nearby beach was magic – we dashed down to Dawlish Warren that first morning, toes in the sand, paddling in the shallows while the kids built wonky castles. There’s something about that gentle Devon vibe, isn’t there? No rush, just the arcades buzzing faintly and ice cream vans tinkling in the distance.

We wandered the lawns by the seafront, spotting seals bobbing about – proper wildlife telly stuff without the effort. Lunch at a beach café, then back for a siesta on the patio, watching families stroll by. It got me reflecting a tad, amid the laughs over our arrival debacle: life’s too short for perfect plans. That messy journey made the peace here hit even harder – a reminder to embrace the daft bits and savour the simple joys, like a proper cream tea scoffed on the cottage steps, clotted cream first, naturally. Devon does that to you. We’re already plotting a return, minus the tractor this time.