I’ll never forget the drive down to North Devon last month – we’d packed the car to bursting with books, a cool box of pasties, and enough tea bags to last a siege. Halfway there, just past Exeter, the satnav decided to throw a wobbly and sent us on a detour through some impossibly narrow lanes. Branches scraped the roof, and I was convinced we’d end up in a hedge, but somehow we emerged laughing, with the kids declaring it the best adventure ever. By the time we trundled into that quiet corner near Barnstaple, the anticipation was buzzing – would it live up to the photos? As we pulled up, though, it hit us straight away: this cosy little cottage, all welcoming and tucked away, felt like a hug from an old mate. First impressions? Spot on.

What we craved most was doing sod all, and this place was perfect for it. No grand plans, no ticking off lists – just lazy days stretching out like the horizon over the Taw. The garden was the star, really. A proper suntrap, wildflowers nodding in the breeze, and those bird feeders drawing in robins and finches like a feathered party. I’d flop into one of the loungers with a mug of builder’s tea, watching the clouds amble by. The kids would mooch about at first, then settle into their own rhythm – building dens from sticks or just sprawling on the grass with comics. Bliss.

Mornings blurred into reading marathons. I demolished a battered paperback thriller in one go, feet up on the coffee table, while the other half dozed with her gardening mags. Lunch was effortless: clotted cream straight from the jar with scones from the Barnstaple market (a quick five-minute drive away, if we could be bothered). Afternoons melted into garden naps or gentle wanders down to the nearby river path – nothing strenuous, just enough to stretch the legs and breathe in that salty Devon air. Evenings? Cosy lamps on, a simple pasta on the go, and board games that descended into giggles. One night, a barn owl hooted right outside, and we all froze, grinning like idiots.

There was this gentle moment of self-reflection one afternoon, lounging there with the sun warming my face. I caught myself thinking how wired we’d been back home – emails, deadlines, the works. Here, time slowed to a crawl, and it was glorious. No guilt about ‘wasting’ it; just being. Sure, we dipped into Braunton Burrows for a sandy stroll one day, toes in the dunes, but mostly it was the cottage bubble we loved. Packing up felt wrong, like leaving a favourite jumper behind. North Devon’s got that magic for unwinding – if you’re after proper downtime, this is your spot. We’re already plotting a return.