We'd been on the road for hours, the satnav cheerfully insisting we were "nearly there" for what felt like the entire length of the M5. By the time we finally turned off towards Westward Ho!, the children were bickering in the back and I was gripping the wheel like it might try to escape. The last straw came when I confidently swung into what I thought was our cottage's little gravel drive, only to realise—far too late—that I'd pulled straight into next door's neatly raked garden. A polite but slightly alarmed face appeared at their window, and I spent the next five minutes reversing out while apologising through the windscreen like some sort of guilty sitcom character.

By the time we actually found the right place, the cottage felt like a proper sanctuary. It sat just a short stroll from the beach, its whitewashed walls glowing in the late afternoon light, and the moment we stepped inside the tiredness seemed to lift. The kitchen was bright and welcoming, with enough mugs for everyone and a kettle that boiled in what felt like seconds—vital after the journey. We dumped our bags in the bedrooms upstairs, claimed our spots, and then wandered straight back down to make tea in proper Cornishware cups that somehow made everything taste better.

Stepping out onto the little patio, we could already hear the sea, that soft, constant hush that makes you slow down whether you mean to or not. The garden was small but tidy, with a couple of weathered chairs that looked like they'd hosted many a holidaymaker before us. I found myself standing there longer than planned, just watching the light change over the rooftops and wondering why it always takes me so long to properly arrive anywhere. We'd only been here an hour, yet the frantic rush of packing, driving, and my ridiculous parking blunder already felt like another day entirely.

Later, once the kettle had been refilled and the children had claimed the comfiest spots on the sofas, we strolled the short distance to the beach for our first proper look. The sand stretched out in that wide, generous way it does along this stretch of coast, and even though the tide was high, there was still plenty of space to wander. We didn't stay long—just long enough to feel the wind on our faces and watch a dog chase its own stick into the shallows—but it was enough to know we'd made the right choice. Back at the cottage, with fish and chips from the village and the heating quietly ticking on, everything felt settled. The journey was done, the mishap forgiven, and for the first time in days, none of us seemed in any hurry to be somewhere else.