I’ll never forget the drive down to North Devon – one of those classic British road trips where the sat nav decides to have a midlife crisis just as you hit the A361. We’d loaded up the car with enough books, snacks, and mismatched beach towels to last a siege, buzzing with that pre-holiday anticipation of salty air and endless horizons. But no, halfway past Barnstaple, the heavens opened, turning the motorway into a makeshift paddling pool. I white-knuckled it through the downpour, swearing under my breath (quietly, mind, with the kids in the back), convinced we’d arrive looking like drowned rats. Spoiler: we did, but it only made the warm welcome at this gorgeous estate just outside Tawstock feel even more like a hug from an old mate.

Pulling up to our cosy holiday cottage – one of those nine little gems dotted around the grounds of a proper Georgian country house – my first impressions were spot on. It’s the sort of place that whispers “relax” before you’ve even unpacked. Short drive from Barnstaple, yet worlds away, with rolling fields stretching out like a green quilt. We tumbled inside, dripping but grinning, and straight away it felt like home. Plump sofas, a kitchen begging for lazy fry-ups, and views over the gardens that made you want to cancel all plans.

Truth be told, that’s exactly what we did. North Devon’s got its share of cracking beaches – Woolacombe’s golden sands just a quick hop away, Croyde for a surf-watch if the mood strikes – and Exmoor’s wild edges tempting a gentle wander. But us? We were all about the joy of bugger all. Mornings started slow: a potter in the garden, coffee in hand, watching the mist lift off the dew-kissed lawns. The all-weather tennis court sat there temptingly unused (I’m rubbish at it anyway, and who needs the sweat?), while the kids vanished into the adventure play area, their shrieks the perfect soundtrack to my book.

Afternoons blurred into that delicious nothing-much. I’d claim a lounger by the indoor pool, the spa bath bubbling away like it was auditioning for a spa day ad. No rush, no schedules – just the plop of cannonballs and the odd family splash war. Evenings? Bliss. We’d mooch over to the country house’s cinema room, pool table gathering dust as we piled onto sofas for a film marathon. Popcorn, pyjamas, and zero FOMO about missing the pub crawl in Barnstaple.

There was this one moment, sprawled in the cottage garden with a dog-eared paperback, sun filtering through the trees, when it hit me. Life’s mad rush – work emails, school runs, the endless scroll – it all melted away here. I caught myself smiling at nothing, properly present for the first time in ages. Gentle self-reflection, innit? Turns out, doing very little is the best thing you can do. If you’re after slowing down in North Devon’s embrace, this estate’s your spot. We left fatter in the soul, lighter in the mind, already plotting a return. Proper holiday magic.