I’ll never forget the drive down to North Devon – we’d packed the car to the brim with wellies, board games, and enough snacks to feed a small army, only for the sat-nav to chuck us into a cheeky detour through some winding lanes that had me white-knuckling the wheel. Just as we were starting to bicker about whose idea it was to leave London at rush hour, we spotted a rogue sheep blocking the road, staring us down like it owned the place. A quick honk and a laugh later, we were on our way again, buzzing with that proper holiday anticipation.

Pulling up to this spacious wing of an attractive 18th-century farmhouse in a pretty Exmoor hamlet near Parracombe felt like stepping into a postcard. It’s bang in the middle between Lynton and Combe Martin, those cracking coastal spots, and from the off, the first impressions were spot on – comfy furnishings everywhere, three bedrooms and four bathrooms so no one’s queueing in the morning, and that private hot tub out back screaming relaxation. We dumped the bags and cracked open a bottle of fizz on the patio, grinning like idiots as the sun dipped behind the hills.

We were after a chilled-out couple’s break, you know? No grand plans, just us soaking up the simple stuff. Mornings kicked off with lazy brekkies in the kitchen, faffing about with local eggs from the farm shop down the lane and brewing endless cups of tea while the mist rolled off the moors. We’d wander over to Hunter’s Inn, just a short stroll away, for a pint by the river – proper Exmoor vibes with ponies ambling past and that fresh sea air nipping at your cheeks. One afternoon, we tackled the easy path up to Great Hangman, the highest sea cliff on the mainland, but let’s be honest, it turned into cottage-life chaos when I slipped on some mud and ended up looking like a drowned rat. My other half couldn’t stop chuckling, handing me a towel and calling it my “glamorous nature moment” – light-hearted jabs like that kept us giggling.

Evenings were pure bliss. We’d fire up the hot tub as the stars popped out, bubbles fizzing around us while we chatted about nothing much. One night, we cooked a simple roast with veg from Combe Martin’s farmers’ market – nothing fancy, but it tasted like heaven after a day pottering about. There was this gentle moment of self-reflection for me, sat there with the steam rising, thinking how we’d got so caught up in city hustle that we’d forgotten these quiet joys. No screens, no stress, just the two of us and the hum of the countryside.

A quick pop to Parracombe’s village pub for a Sunday carvery rounded things off perfectly – hearty portions and locals swapping stories. It was all so unhurried, the kind of holiday that recharges your batteries without you even noticing. This place won’t disappoint; it’s already top of our list for next time. If you’re fancying a taste of proper North Devon cottage life, you won’t go far wrong here.