I’ll never forget the drive down to that little village in Devon – sat nav insisting we were nearly there, then suddenly rerouting us down a lane so narrow I was convinced we’d end up scraping the hedges like a dodgy parallel park. The rain was bucketing it down, naturally, turning the roads into rivers, and just as we rounded a bend, a pheasant decided to play chicken right in front of the car. Heart in mouth, I slammed the brakes, coffee sloshed everywhere, and the dog went flying off the back seat with a bewildered yelp. “Welcome to Devon,” I muttered, wiping latte off my jeans. What a start – but honestly, it only made the arrival feel more like a proper adventure.

By the time we pulled up outside the cottage, soaked and giggling at our dishevelled state, the anticipation had built into this proper buzz. We’d been dreaming of a cosy rural escape, and as I fumbled with the key (hands still sticky from the coffee fiasco), the door swung open to this absolute gem. It’s one of those rustic, Grade 2 listed thatched beauties from the 17th century, plonked in the most idyllic spot in Jacobstowe. Pet-friendly too, which was a godsend – our spaniel bounded in like he owned the place, tail wagging overtime.

First impressions? Blimey, it hit you like a warm hug. Stepping into the inviting sitting room, with its luxury Liberty furnishings, a telly for lazy afternoons, and that open fire just begging for logs on a chilly evening – I was smitten. Next door, the snug called to me immediately; I could already picture curling up there with a book as the woodburner glowed away. And the kitchen/diner? The heart of it all, fully kitted out so you could rustle up a proper roast without missing a beat, then gather round the table with a glass of wine, chatting rubbish till late.

We dumped the bags, lit the fire (after a minor faff with the matches – arrival chaos strikes again), and just soaked it in. The thatch overhead gave it this timeless charm, like stepping back without the discomfort. Outside, the village felt worlds away from the motorway madness we’d left behind – quiet lanes perfect for a post-mishap stroll to the local pub for a pint and a ploughman’s. That evening, as the dog snored by the hearth and we tucked into fish and chips from Okehampton (just a quick hop away), I had one of those gentle moments: why do we ever rush about? This was proper unwinding – mishaps and all.

A day or two in, we wandered the nearby paths around Belstone Common, dodging puddles and breathing in that fresh Devon air, then back for cream teas in the garden if the sun peeked out. It’s the sort of place that makes you forget the drive’s drama and just settle in. If you’re after that authentic rural vibe without the pretension, this is it – four paws up from us. Can’t wait to go back.