I’ll never forget the drive down to Porthleven – a proper faff from the motorway, with sat-nav insisting we take some winding B-road that turned out to be more pothole than tarmac. Halfway there, we had a right old comedy moment when the heavens opened and my other half’s flip-flops went flying off the roof rack (yes, we’d chucked them up there in a rush). Stopped in a layby, laughing like idiots as we retrieved them from a puddle, dripping and defeated. But oh, the anticipation built as we neared the coast – that salty tang in the air, glimpses of the sea, and the promise of just us two, switching off completely.

Pulling up to our charming little traditional cottage in the heart of bustling Porthleven harbour, my first impressions were spot on. Tucked away yet right in the thick of it, with the harbour’s fishing boats bobbing just a stone’s throw away, it felt like stepping into a hug from Cornwall itself. Perfect for a romantic getaway or solo unwind, with that one super-king bed screaming luxury lounging. The arched bathroom windows let in this soft, dreamy light – history without the hassle, and every modern comfort you could want.

From the off, though, we embraced the joy of doing sod all. No grand plans, no ticking off lists – just lazy cottage days that melted into one another. Mornings kicked off with brekkie in the sunny garden, me nursing a coffee while the other half flicked through a dog-eared paperback from the shelf. That garden, mind – a proper little oasis, wildflowers nodding in the breeze, with the distant crash of waves reminding you the beach is only half a mile down the lane. We’d sprawl on the loungers, toes in the grass, watching clouds drift by. I caught myself grinning at how daft it was: back home, I’m always rushing, phone glued to my hand, but here? Blissful nothing.

Afternoons blurred into siestas and slow strolls – nothing strenuous, just ambling along the harbour wall to watch the surf dudes tackle the breakers at the beach, or nipping to a nearby café for a cream tea (extra clotted, naturally). Evenings were garden sunsets with a GandT, reading aloud from whatever thriller we’d packed, giggling at the plot twists. One day, I wandered the coastal paths within a mile – just enough to feel the sea spray, puffing a bit on the ups, then back for more lounging. It was gentle, unhurried, the kind of pace that makes you realise how knackered modern life leaves you.

Looking back, that gentle self-reflection hit on day three: sat in the garden, book forgotten, I thought, “This is it, isn’t it? Slowing right down, letting the world spin without me.” No regrets about skipping the big hikes or trendy spots further out – Porthleven gave us exactly what we craved. A week of pure, unadulterated loafing in a cracking Cornish retreat. We left refreshed, already plotting the return. If you fancy switching off proper, this is your spot.