I’ll never forget the drive down to Devon – we’d packed the car to the brim with wellies, a cool bag stuffed with picnic bits, and enough board games to last a nuclear winter. My other half, Sarah, was navigating on her phone, insisting Google Maps knew best, but about 20 miles from Totnes, we took a wrong turn onto some narrow lane that had more cows than tarmac. Cue a classic five-point turn in the rain, with me muttering about trusting SatNav less than a dodgy weather forecast. Still, by the time we trundled into the quiet yard near the River Dart, the frustration melted away. Spotting the cute little terraced cottage with its cosy, lived-in charm, I felt that proper holiday buzz – like we’d stumbled into someone’s secret hideaway.

Pushing open the door, we were hit with that heavenly waft of fresh linen and wood-burning stove readiness. First impressions? Spot on. It was compact but perfect for us two – a snug kitchen with everything you’d need for lazy brekkies, a lounge that screamed ‘curl up with a book’, and an upstairs bedroom with views over the rooftops to the water. We dumped the bags and cracked open a couple of local ciders from the fridge (a thoughtful touch, that), toasting our escape from the daily grind.

The next few days blurred into proper cottage bliss, the sort that makes you forget what day it is. Mornings started with strong tea and toast, then a gentle wander down to the Dart for a bit of riverside dawdling. Totnes is just a hop away – we mooched around the market on a Tuesday, picking up artisan bread, cheeses that could make you weep with joy, and a jar of honeycomb that didn’t last the afternoon. There’s something magic about that town’s quirky vibe, all independent shops and folk with dogs that look like they’ve stepped out of a Beatrix Potter tale.

Afternoons were for simple pleasures: firing up the barbecue in the tiny courtyard (Sarah’s charred sausages were a highlight – comedy gold), or heading out for a circular walk along the lanes to Tuckenhay, where we found a cracking pub doing Devonshire cream teas that hit the spot after a drizzle-soaked ramble. One evening, we tried our hand at a jigsaw of Dartmoor ponies – 1,000 pieces of chaos that had us in stitches, arguing over a single sky bit till bedtime. Cottage life, eh? It’s the little domestic disasters that make it.

I had a quiet moment one sunset, sat on the bench outside with a cuppa, watching the light dance on the river. Work stress, endless emails – it all felt miles away (literally). We’re not kids anymore, Sarah and I, but these breaks remind you that slowing down, embracing the faff and the joy in a soggy walk or a wonky picnic, is what keeps the spark alive. Devon does that to you. We left with fuller hearts, a boot full of muddy gear, and already plotting the next getaway. Proper tonic.