I’ll never forget the drive down to North Devon – we’d packed the car to the gills 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 narrow lanes that had me white-knuckling the wheel. Just as I was starting to mutter about why we didn’t stick to the A-roads, a rogue pheasant decided to play chicken right in front of us. Heart in mouth, emergency swerve, and we all burst out laughing. Typical family holiday start – a bit of chaos to set the tone.

Pulling up to our spot in Barnstaple, I felt that proper buzz of anticipation, you know? Wondering if it’d live up to the pics. But blimey, first impressions were spot on. It’s this lovely apartment forming part of a historic property, all spacious and cosy with that perfect mix of old-school charm and mod cons. The open-plan living area swept us right in – massive seating in front of a cracking fireplace and telly, ideal for us lot to flop down after a day out. Kitchen’s right next door, so I could rustle up grub while the kids nattered away, and there’s this elegant dining table for those rare moments when we all sit still for a meal.

We were there for a proper relaxed family break, soaking up the simple pleasures of North Devon life. Mornings kicked off with brekkie chaos – burnt toast, spilled milk, the works – then we’d wander down to the River Taw, just a short stroll away. Skimming stones, paddling in the shallows, watching the boats chug by. The kids loved it, turning every pebble into a treasure. One afternoon, we hit Pilton Park, letting them burn off steam on the swings while I sipped a coffee, feeling a proper pang of self-reflection. When did they get so big? These cottage-y stays remind you to slow down, don’t they? No fancy itineraries, just us making memories amid the everyday muddle.

Evenings were pure bliss. We’d fire up the fireplace, crack open a board game (Monopoly always ends in giggles and fake tantrums), and tuck into pasta I’d thrown together. One night, the littlest one insisted on ‘helping’ in the kitchen, which meant flour everywhere and a wonky pizza that tasted better than any restaurant posh nosh. We popped over to the local shops for pasties and clotted cream – proper Devon treats – keeping things dead simple. A gentle mooch around Barnstaple’s Pannier Market one drizzly morning netted us fudge and fresh bread, turning a grey day golden.

The chaos of cottage life – socks left on the floor, endless snack demands – it’s all part of the magic, innit? No five-star polish, just heartfelt family time that leaves you recharged. North Devon nailed it for us; we’re already plotting a return.