I’ll never forget the drive down to Exmouth – we’d set off from Bristol full of beans, dreaming of pasties and pints by the sea, only for the sat-nav to chuck us into a proper snarl-up on the A30. Some daft roadworks had us crawling along like snails, and by the time we escaped, I was starving and swearing at the dashboard (silently, mind). But oh, what a relief when we finally rolled into town, the salty air hitting us through the open windows. Spotting the Rolle Gardens development right in the heart of Exmouth felt like striking gold – modern luxury apartment, all sleek and inviting, with off-road parking that meant no faffing about with street spaces. We couldn’t wait to dump the bags and crack on with the holiday.

Stepping inside from that bright hallway, we wandered straight into the king-size bedroom – perfect for flopping down with the Smart TV for a sneaky episode of something daft before dinner. The open-plan living space and balcony overlooking the gardens had us grinning like kids; it’s the sort of place that makes you feel properly posh without trying too hard. A quick five-minute stroll to the sandy beach, and we were equidistant to pubs and shops – ideal for a food-obsessed pair like us.

First order of business: food, obviously. We nipped over to the Bicton Inn, just a hop away, for a proper welcome pint and some fish and chips that were crispier than my attempts at batter back home. The guv’nor recommended the local Exmouth ale, which went down a treat with the mushy peas – none of your fancy nonsense, just solid, hearty grub that hits the spot after a long drive. That evening, we fancied playing house in the swish kitchen. I attempted a Devon cream tea twist: scones from the corner bakery (fluffy as clouds), clotted cream from the nearby farm shop, and strawberry jam I rustled up from a punnet bought at Exmouth Market. Disaster struck when I over-whisked the jam – turned into more of a compote, really – but slathered on those scones with a cuppa, it was bliss on the balcony as the sun dipped.

Next day, we hit the market proper – Exmouth’s harbour-side one buzzes on Saturdays with stalls groaning under fresh crab, local cheeses, and veg straight from Devon fields. I bagged some mackerel for grilling (ambitious, me) and a wedge of tangy cheddar that melted like a dream. Pub lunch at The Grove Inn followed: juicy burgers with chips so fat you needed a fork, washed down with a crisp white from the Jurassic Coast vineyards nearby. Back at the flat, my cooking attempt number two was a seafood linguine – the mackerel flaked perfectly, tossed with garlic from the market and a splash of cream. Managed not to burn it this time, though I did reflect over my glass of wine how I’m always better at eating than chef-ing. Makes you appreciate those pub kitchens, doesn’t it?

Evenings blurred into more of the same heavenly routine: a wander to The Bank House for crab salads that tasted of the sea itself, or takeaways from the chippy elevated with our own market herbs. One night, we even tried a full-on pasty bake-off using the oven here – mine was a soggy-bottomed disaster (cheers, Bake Off flashbacks), but his won, paired with a beer from Exmouth Brewing Co. By the end of the week, bellies full and hearts content, I was already plotting a return. If you’re after a serene spot to gorge on Devon’s finest without straying far, this is your ticket – just pack stretchy trousers.