We’d barely made it out of the lane before the satnav tried to send us through a hedge. I blame the narrow Devon roads and my own stubbornness in thinking “it’ll be fine” right up until the wing mirror kissed a bramble. By the time we pulled up at The Farmhouse at Broad Downs, the car looked like it had been in a fight with a blackberry bush and lost.

The first thing that hit me was the quiet. Not the dramatic, film-score kind of quiet, just the sort where you can actually hear the gulls and the faint shush of the sea a short walk away. The farmhouse sat there looking exactly as a proper old Devon place should: solid stone, a few wonky window frames, and a garden that had clearly been loved rather than fussed over. Our two teenagers tumbled out and immediately claimed the biggest bedroom with the view, which felt fair enough after the journey.

Inside, it was all low ceilings and the sort of comfy sofas you actually want to sit on. Someone had left a little welcome note with local tips, and the kitchen smelled faintly of woodsmoke from the Rayburn. We unpacked in that leisurely holiday way—no rushing, just finding places for teabags and biscuits. The kids disappeared to explore the garden while I made the first cup of tea, already feeling the shoulders drop.

Later we wandered down the lane towards the beach, wellies on because you never quite know with Devon paths. The sand was still warm from the afternoon sun, and we spent a happy hour skimming stones and arguing about whose went furthest. Back at the house we grilled sausages on the little barbecue and ate them at the garden table while the light faded. No telly, no screens, just the sound of the kettle going on again and someone remembering they’d packed marshmallows.

It struck me, watching everyone sprawled on the grass with slightly sandy feet, how rarely we manage this kind of nothing. The journey mishap already felt like part of the story rather than a disaster, and the farmhouse had that rare quality of making you feel instantly at home without trying too hard. Tomorrow we’d probably do it all again, just with fewer brambles and a bit more sunscreen.