We'd been dreaming of this Devon getaway for months – just me, my wife, and our two lads, escaping the daily grind for some proper family downtime. The drive down from Bristol was meant to be a breeze, but oh no, about halfway there, I took a wrong turn onto some narrow lane that had me convinced we'd end up in the next county. Cue the sat-nav lady yelling at me like I'd personally offended her, and the kids in the back chanting "Are we there yet?" while munching crisps everywhere. Classic dad fail, but we laughed it off, windows down, singing along to the radio as the rolling hills of South Devon unfolded.

Pulling up to this elegant Georgian manor farmhouse on the edge of Cornworthy felt like stepping into a period drama – all preserved charm with classic furnishings and spotless decor that made our city flat look like a tip. First impressions? Magic. The place sits bang in the heart of its estate, surrounded by beautifully kept grounds, and from the moment we parked, there was this buzz of anticipation. "This is posh but cosy," I said to Sarah, already picturing lazy evenings by the fire.

We dumped the bags and straight into the grand dining room – that mahogany table screamed "family feast time." First night, we rustled up a massive shepherd's pie in the huge country kitchen, wrestling with the AGA cooker like amateurs. I nearly burned the gravy, but we sat round the rustic breakfast table anyway, clinking glasses of local red and planning the week. Simple pleasures, innit? The sitting room became our hub, plush sofas by the huge sash windows, open fire crackling as we watched a rubbish film on the big telly. The kids claimed the snug for their cartoons – bliss for us grown-ups.

Upstairs, the bedrooms were a treat: we nabbed the master with its super-king and en-suite, while the boys fought over the triple with three singles. Ground floor twin was perfect for a hypothetical gran visit next time. Mornings started with brekkie smells wafting – bacon sizzling, fresh bread from Totnes market (just a short hop away). We'd spill out into the enclosed private garden for tea and toast, then mooch round the estate's pools. The indoor one was heaven on a drizzly day – lads splashing about while we lounged with books. Outdoor pool shimmered in the sun, and the play areas kept them busy for hours. Nearby, we wandered Tuckenhay's lanes, popped to the shop for pasties, or ambled to the River Dart for a gentle paddle – nothing too strenuous, just that relaxed Devon vibe.

One afternoon, chaos hit when the boys turned the kitchen into a flour bomb zone baking scones. Flour everywhere, me covered head to toe, Sarah in hysterics. "This is cottage life," she grinned, and I had a proper moment – realising these messy bits are what stick, not the Instagram perfection. Self-reflection over a GandT by the fire: we're knackered parents, but moments like this recharge the batteries.

By week's end, we were hooked on the simple rhythm – fireside chats, pool dips, cream teas in Dartmouth (so close, felt like our backyard). No big adventures, just us lot unwinding in this timeless spot. Can't wait to go back.