I’ll never forget the drive down to Padstow – a proper faff from the motorway, with sat-nav taking us on a detour through some narrow lanes that had me gripping the wheel like my life depended on it. We nearly ended up in a hedge when a tractor decided to play chicken, but somehow we laughed it off, windows down, blasting the radio. By the time we crested the hill and spotted the sea glinting in the distance, all that stress melted away. Padstow was just how I’d pictured it: that quintessential Cornish charm, with the harbour buzzing and the air thick with salt and promise. We were buzzing too, starving after the journey and dreaming of pasties.

Pulling up to our first-floor apartment near Trevose Head, I felt that proper holiday glow. It’s the sort of place that welcomes you with open arms – steps up to a spacious open-plan living area that’s spot on for a small group. The kitchen’s kitted out brilliantly, everything you need to rustle up a feast, and there’s a dining table for four right by it, flowing into a cosy sitting room with the telly for lazy evenings. We brought our well-behaved dog, who immediately claimed a sunbeam by the window. First impressions? Absolute winner – it felt like home, but with better views.

Food’s what this trip was all about, innit? Padstow’s a foodie paradise, and we dived straight in. First morning, we wandered down to the harbour for breakfast at a little café – proper crispy bacon butties and fresh coffee, with gulls eyeing our plates jealously. I couldn’t resist the local market on the quay, stalls groaning under fresh crab, plump mackerel, and the creamiest clotted cream you’ve ever seen. Loaded up with bags, we staggered back to cook lunch. My attempt at a seafood chowder was a bit of a heroic failure – too much garlic, ended up tasting like a vampire repellent – but we scoffed it anyway, laughing over glasses of crisp white wine on the balcony, watching boats bob about.

Evenings were pub perfection. The Old Ship nearby does a cracking fish pie, all creamy and flaky, washed down with a pint of Tribute ale. One night, we hit the London Inn for their specials board – succulent roast lamb with all the trimmings, proper Yorkshire puds even in Cornwall. I overdid it, as usual, waddling back stuffed to the gills, but worth every calorie. Another day, we tried our hand at a full Cornish blowout in the kitchen: pasties from Stein’s bakery (couldn’t not, could we?), paired with local cheeses and a cheeky bottle of rosé. Turned out better than my chowder, though I say it myself.

Reflecting on it now, sat here back home, I realise it wasn’t just the grub – though that was bloomin’ marvellous – it was the simple joy of pottering about, messing up recipes with mates, and letting Padstow’s laid-back vibe sink in. No rush, just good food and better company. If you’re after a coastal bolt-hole where the eating’s as good as the views, this is your spot. We’re already plotting a return.