I’ll never forget the drive down to St Ives – we piled into the car in the pouring rain somewhere near Exeter, full of beans about our first family holiday in Cornwall, only for the sat-nav to chuck us into a massive traffic jam just past Redruth. Half an hour of queuing behind a lorry spilling hay everywhere, and me trying to keep the kids from going stir-crazy with crisps and iPads. But as we finally crested the hill into St Ives, the sun broke through like it was putting on a show just for us, those turquoise waves sparkling below. Heart lifted instantly.

Pulling up to the cottage on the rocky headland at Porthminster Point felt like winning the lottery. It’s this bright, cheerful spot sleeping six across three bedrooms – perfect for our lot, with mates tagging along too. The three-tiered garden dropping down to sea views had us grinning like idiots before we’d even unpacked. Fresh sea air hit you straight away, and I could already picture evenings firing up the BBQ out there.

But let’s be honest, the real star of the week was the food – St Ives does it like nowhere else. First morning, we wandered down to the harbour and hit the farmers’ market on the wharf, still buzzing from the night’s catch. Fresh mackerel, plump tomatoes, and pasties from Philps that were so buttery they flaked at a touch. I grabbed a load for a picnic at Porthmeor Beach – golden sands, surf dudes riding the waves – and we scoffed it all under the cliffs, sand in our sarnies but who cares?

Cooking in the cottage was a right laugh, though I’m no Jamie Oliver. That first night, I attempted a seafood linguine with crab from the market – overdid the garlic a bit, mind, and the kids pulled faces, but slathered in lemon it wasn’t half bad. We ate in the garden as the sun dipped, sipping local cider, the sea murmuring below. Pub crawls became our ritual too. The Sloop Inn down by the beach does the best fish and chips – beer-battered cod the size of a flip-flop, mushy peas on the side, all washed down with a pint of Tribute ale. Proper job after a day’s beachcombing.

Midweek, we proper pushed the boat out at Porthminster Beach Café – crab salads and flatbreads with that view, unreal. I tried my hand at a BBQ feast one evening: local sausages from the butchers on High Street, corn on the cob charred just right, and a messy attempt at stuffed peppers that somehow worked with a splash of balsamic. Sat there alfresco, plates balanced on knees, laughing about my kitchen disasters. Made me reflect a bit – rushing about life back home, we never slow down for meals like this. Simple stuff, but sharing it with family and mates, sea breeze in your hair? Magic.

Evenings often ended at The Hub or a cheeky takeaway from the chippie on Fore Street – haddock and chips wrapped hot, eaten on benches overlooking the bay. Left us stuffed and happy, plotting the next day’s market raid. St Ives fed our souls as much as our bellies – can’t wait to go back.