I’ll never forget the drive down to St Ives – or rather, the near-disaster that kicked off our holiday. We’d piled into the car in Bristol at the crack of dawn, me navigating with my phone propped on the dashboard, hubby at the wheel, and the kids in the back already squabbling over crisps. Everything was tickety-boo until we hit the A30, where some cheeky diversion sent us on a wild goose chase through narrow lanes that seemed to twist forever. By the time we spotted the sea glinting in the distance, we were parched, the sat nav was sulking with no signal, and I’d spilt half my latte down my top. Classic us, turning a three-hour trip into a five-hour farce. But as we crested the hill into Carbis Bay, all that faded away – there it was, this stunning stretch of coastline, waves crashing like they were putting on a show just for us.

Pulling up to our holiday pad, my heart did a little flip. We’d been buzzing about it for weeks, dreaming of those sea views everyone raves about, and blimey, it didn’t disappoint. It’s one of those elegantly furnished and beautifully appointed apartments in a luxurious development – think plush sofas you sink into, a kitchen that sparkles, and floor-to-ceiling windows framing the endless blue of the Atlantic. Short walk to the beach? Spot on. We dumped the bags, kicked off our shoes, and just stood there gawping as the sun dipped towards Porthkidney Sands below. First impressions? Pure magic. After the road rage, it felt like we’d stumbled into paradise.

We wasted no time heading out – a quick stroll down to the beach, sand still warm underfoot, and the kids were off building lopsided castles while we paddled in the shallows. St Ives proper is just a hop away on the little branch line train from Carbis Bay station – we caught the next one, giggling at how quaint it is, chugging past cliffs and coves. Wandered the harbour, past the pilchard cellars and arty galleries crammed with local pottery (I resisted buying a vase the size of my head). Grabbed fish and chips from a spot overlooking the bay – proper crispy batter, not that greasy rubbish you get elsewhere. Sat on the wall watching surfers ride the waves, vinegar dripping everywhere. Later, back at the apartment, we cracked open a bottle of white on the balcony as the sun set, painting the sky in pinks and oranges. The views! You could watch the tide roll in for hours.

Of course, it wasn’t all seamless. I had a daft moment trying to work the fancy coffee machine – ended up with froth up to my elbows and a puddle on the counter. Made us laugh, though, and reminded me why these getaways are gold: they shake you out of the daily grind. Staring out at the sea that first evening, I had a proper think – life’s too short for perfect plans; it’s the mishaps that make the memories. Can’t wait to go back.