I’ll never forget the drive down to North Devon – we’d packed the car to the brim with wellies, board games, and enough tea bags to last a siege, only for the sat-nav to chuck us into a cheeky detour through some narrow lanes that had me white-knuckling the wheel. Just as I was muttering about Somerset’s endless fields, we spotted a sign for Westward Ho! and there it was: our little luxury holiday home peeking out like a promise of proper relaxation. I’d been buzzing with anticipation all morning, picturing lazy beach days, and honestly, the first glimpse didn’t disappoint – it looked every bit the cosy seaside retreat, all welcoming and tucked away just right for a family couple like us wanting to switch off.

Stepping inside felt like sinking into a warm hug after that faff on the road. The place had that effortless charm – think plush sofas begging for a collapse, a kitchen screaming for bacon butties, and windows framing the sea like a living painting. We dumped the bags and headed straight out to those two miles of golden beach right on the doorstep. It’s dog-friendly year-round, which was perfect for our soppy Labrador, who bounded off like he’d been let out of jail. We spent the afternoon paddling in the shallows, me failing spectacularly at building a sandcastle that didn’t crumble (note to self: engineering isn’t my calling), while my other half skimmed stones like a pro. The waves were gentle enough for a dip, and spotting a few locals at the surf school nearby made me tempted for tomorrow – though knowing me, I’d end up as chum for the seagulls.

Evenings were pure bliss. We wandered over to the Royal North Devon Golf Club next door for a pint and fish and chips in their bar – nothing fancy, just proper grub with a view of the dunes. No need to drive; it’s all on the doorstep. One night, we ambled along the South West Coast Path that runs the length of the village, puffing a bit on the hills but rewarded with those cracking sea vistas at every turn. Behind the beach, Northam Burrows Country Park had us meandering through the sand dunes for hours, spotting birds and just breathing it all in. It’s the sort of walking that clears the cobwebs without feeling like a hike.

Of course, cottage life had its chaotic moments – like when the toaster rebelled during breakfast, spewing smoke and sending us into giggles over burnt crumpets. Or the time I got sand everywhere, turning our bed into a beach outpost. But that’s the joy of it, isn’t it? No schedules, just us pottering about, rediscovering that simple spark. Reflecting on it now, back home with the rain lashing the windows, I realise how much we needed that reset. Westward Ho! and this gem of a home gave us sunsets, sandy toes, and a reminder that the best holidays are the ones where you do bugger all but love every minute. We’re already plotting a return – who wouldn’t?