I’ll never forget the drive down to North Devon – we’d packed the car to bursting with wellies, maps, and enough snacks to feed a small army, only for the sat-nav to chuck a wobbly just outside Barnstaple. It rerouted us down some dodgy B-road that felt more like a sheep track, and I ended up with a face full of blackberry bushes after a hasty three-point turn. Still, by the time we crested that final hill, hearts were racing with that proper holiday buzz, and there it was: our luxurious reverse-level house, all sleek lines and those jaw-dropping sea views stretching out over the estuary. First impressions? Spot on. It screamed 'kick back and make memories', perfect for our little crew of mates and their nippers.

We’d come for the walking, you see – North Devon’s got that rugged coastline that pulls you in like a magnet. Day one dawned crisp and bright, so we laced up and headed straight for the South West Coast Path, just a short stroll from the door. That first hike along the cliffs towards Appledore was pure magic: gulls wheeling overhead, boats bobbing on the water below, and the kids spotting seals (or were they just rocks? Who knows). We paused at the quayside for Hockings ice cream – award-winning for a reason, that vanilla hit the spot after the uphill slog. Feeling invincible, we even tried a bit of crabbing off the quay, though my bucket yielded more seaweed than prizes. Laughed till we cried when one lad hooked his own shoelace.

But oh, British weather – you cheeky devil. Next morning, the sky turned that moody grey, wind howling like it had a grudge. Our grand plan for a full coastal ramble to Westward Ho! got binned; instead, we pivoted to Northam Burrows Country Park, a couple of miles up the road. It’s this wild expanse of dunes and marshes, brilliant for a damp-day yomp. We trudged through squelchy paths, hoods up, spotting ponies and waders, the rain lashing our faces. Proper bracing stuff, the kind that makes you feel alive. The kids turned it into an adventure game – ‘survive the storm’ – and we stumbled upon a sheltered spot for pasties from the excellent deli back in Appledore. Sat there, dripping but grinning, I had one of those moments: why do I spend so much time faffing about in the city when this – getting properly windswept and wondering at the world – is what recharges the batteries?

By afternoon, the clouds cracked open, and we were back out, linking up to the Coast Path for a golden-hour wander. Even nipped over to Instow via the summer ferry (what a treat), padding along the sandy beach as the sun dipped. The house was our haven each night – those views turning fiery at sunset, hot dinners fuelling tales of the day’s triumphs and soggy disasters. We clocked miles on the hikes, from estuary trails to burrow bashes, the weather flipping our script but never spoiling the fun. North Devon walks you through every mood, and I’d not swap it for anywhere. Already plotting the return.