We’d barely made it out of Taunton when the satnav decided to send us down a lane so narrow the wing mirrors practically swapped gossip with the hedgerows. By the time we spotted the little wooden sign for The Old Byres, my husband had reversed into the same bramble patch twice and the kids were in fits. We pulled up laughing, the car dusted with bits of greenery, and that was our welcome to the place.

The cottage sits just off the lane in Sampford Brett, a short walk from the pebbly stretch at Watchet. From the moment we stepped out, the air smelled of salt and warm grass. A low stone wall wrapped around a patch of lawn where two deckchairs already looked perfectly rumpled, as if they’d been waiting for us. Inside, the kitchen opened straight onto a scrubbed wooden table scattered with tourist leaflets and a jar of local fudge someone had left as a welcome. Upstairs, the bedrooms had those thick curtains that actually keep the morning light out—important when small people still wake at dawn even on holiday.

We didn’t unpack straight away. Instead we wandered the few minutes down to the beach, shoes in hand, letting the children race ahead to see who could find the smoothest pebble first. The tide was out, revealing stretches of ridged sand perfect for drawing giant stick-family portraits that the sea would soon wash away. Back at the cottage, tea was brewed in mismatched mugs while we claimed the garden chairs and watched a blackbird hop along the wall, unbothered by our chatter.

What struck me most, once the initial rush of bags and sandy feet had settled, was how little we needed to do. The cottage didn’t demand anything grand; it simply offered a calm space to land after the journey. I found myself lingering at the sink, rinsing sand from shells, and realised I’d already stopped checking my phone. There’s something gently corrective about a kitchen window that frames nothing more exciting than a washing line and the distant glint of the Bristol Channel. It made the earlier lane fiasco feel less like a mishap and more like the proper, slightly chaotic start to slowing down.