We’d barely made it past Barnstaple when the satnav decided to test my patience, sending us down a lane so narrow the wing mirrors kissed the hedges. By the time we turned into the little car park behind Rosebank Cottage, the heavens had opened in proper North Devon fashion. We dashed for the door with bags flapping like sails, only to discover I’d left the key safe in the glovebox. Five minutes of frantic rummaging later, we were inside, laughing and dripping onto the welcome mat while the rain drummed on the windows.

Once we’d hung our coats to steam by the radiator, the cottage felt instantly welcoming: a low-ceilinged sitting room with squashy sofas and a view straight across the fields towards the sea. The short walk down to Woolacombe Beach took barely ten minutes, and even in the drizzle the stretch of golden sand looked inviting. We grabbed takeaway pasties from the kiosk by the car park and ate them on a bench overlooking the surf, watching dogs chase tennis balls into the shallows.

The next morning brought blue skies and a fresh breeze, perfect for the coast path. We set off from the cottage gate and followed the trail north towards Mortehoe, the sea glittering on our left and skylarks bubbling overhead. The path wound between bracken and gorse, with sudden dips that revealed rocky coves far below. Halfway along we stopped at a wooden bench to share a flask of tea, the kind of simple pleasure that makes you forget deadlines and to-do lists back home.

By mid-afternoon the clouds had gathered again, so we abandoned plans for a longer loop and instead wandered the gentler lanes around the village, pausing at the little churchyard to read weathered headstones. The changeable weather had forced us to slow down, and I found myself noticing details I’d normally rush past: the scent of damp earth, the way the light shifted on the waves, the sound of our footsteps on gravel. It felt oddly restorative.

Back at Rosebank Cottage that evening, with the windows open to the cooling air, we planned the next day’s walk over fish and chips from the beach café. The mishap on arrival already felt like part of the story, a reminder that even the best-laid plans bend to whatever the coast decides to offer.