I’ll never forget the drive down to North Devon – what should’ve been a straightforward jaunt from the M5 turned into a comedy of errors thanks to my hopeless sense of direction. Sat nav insisted on taking us through some winding back lanes near Barnstaple, and just as we were convinced we’d ended up in the middle of nowhere, we hit a flock of sheep blocking the road. There I was, honking gently like an amateur farmer, while the kids in the back seat cheered as if it were a petting zoo. By the time we finally rolled into Instow, we were all a bit frazzled, but buzzing with that holiday anticipation – you know, the kind where you imagine lazy beach days ahead.

Pulling up to the cottage, my first impression was pure relief mixed with delight. It’s one of those classic seaside spots, cosy and welcoming with a homely vibe that screams family getaway. The garden gate creaked open (note to self: oil it next time), and stepping inside felt like slipping into a warm hug after the chaos. Fresh flowers on the table, telly already tuned to the footie, and a kitchen stocked with all the essentials – we dumped the bags and cracked open a pack of biscuits straight away. The views from the windows? Straight out to the estuary, with boats bobbing about like they were putting on a show just for us.

That first afternoon, we wandered down to Instow’s beach, still sandy from our toes after the drive. It’s got that perfect family feel – kids building epic sandcastles while surfers caught waves in the distance. We grabbed fish and chips from one of the friendly pubs right by the dunes, scoffing them on the sand as the sun dipped low. Pure bliss, and a far cry from the sheep standoff earlier. Next morning, we followed the riverside trail to Bideford – it’s only a short stroll, but the views along the Torridge are stunning, with herons popping up like nosy neighbours. Bideford’s market was in full swing, pannier stalls heaving with fresh pasties and local fudge. I treated myself to a cream tea that was so good, I nearly didn’t share.

A five-minute drive over to Westward Ho! became our daily ritual – that two-mile stretch of golden sand is magic for sandcastle makers like my lot. The kids spent hours paddling, while I pretended to be a serious rambler on the Tarka Trail bits nearby. Traffic-free paths winding through dunes, spotting wildlife – we even saw a seal poking its head up one day. It’s all so effortlessly brilliant here, no need for grand plans.

Looking back, that messy arrival was the perfect icebreaker. It made me reflect on how holidays aren’t about perfection; they’re about those unexpected laughs and simple joys. North Devon’s got it spot on – unpretentious, beautiful, and just the ticket for recharging. We’re already plotting a return, minus the sheep detour.