I’ll never forget the drive down to that tucked-away spot near Holsworthy – we’d packed the car to the gills with wellies, dog leads, and enough snacks to feed a small army, only for the sat-nav to chuck a wobbly just as we hit the twisty Devon lanes. It sent us down a muddy track that looked more like a farmer’s shortcut than a proper road, and there we were, sliding about like Bambi on ice, with the kids in the back giggling and our spaniel whining for rescue. A quick reverse and a sheepish laugh later, we were back on track, hearts racing but buzzing with that proper holiday anticipation. What lay ahead? Who knew – but it felt like adventure was calling.

Pulling up to the handsome detached house on the rural outskirts, my first impressions were spot on: it was the perfect family bolthole, all cosy and welcoming with its quiet vibe, just a stone’s throw from the North Cornwall coast and those rolling Devon fields. Stepping inside, the elegant dining room screamed family dinners, the smart sitting room begged for lazy evenings, and that sunny conservatory? Pure bliss for a morning cuppa watching the world wake up. Upstairs, the three bedrooms with their pretty cottage-style fabrics and cracking views over the countryside had us unpacking in no time. The shared bathroom with its bath and separate shower was a godsend – I could already picture a long soak after a day’s exploring. Outside, the decked patio with its barbecue and hot tub (oh, that six-berth Jacuzzi was heaven after muddy walks) overlooked fields where the little ones could burn off steam on the lawn, and our dog could have a good romp in the adjacent paddocks when no farmers were about. Secure garage for the bikes? Sorted.

But the real magic of the week? Stumbling on hidden gems by pure accident – getting gloriously lost was the theme. One afternoon, aiming for a vague walk, we veered off down a leafy lane and found ourselves at Dunsdon National Nature Reserve, right on the doorstep. It was pure off-the-beaten-track joy: lush meadows, bird song everywhere, and a gentle riverside path that felt like our secret discovery. The dog went bonkers chasing scents, and we spotted kingfishers darting about – proper wildlife telly stuff, without the crowds.

Another day, faffing about on the lanes, we ended up at the edge of Tamar Lakes, just a hop away. No big plans, just pedal boats and a splash in the calmer waters – the kids paddleboarded like pros (well, after a few splashes), and I had a go at a gentle swim, feeling all virtuous. We laughed about how we’d never have bothered if the map app hadn’t glitched again. Even closer, a wrong turn led to a wildflower-strewn meadow path that looped back to the house, with views that stopped us in our tracks. I sat there on a fallen log, hot tub calling later, and had one of those quiet moments: holidays like this remind you life’s best bits aren’t on the tourist trail, but in the detours, the mishaps that turn into memories.

Back at the house each night, barbie on, hot tub bubbling, we’d toast to our accidental finds. It was the kind of trip that recharges the soul – no regrets, just a hankering to get lost there again.