I’ll never forget the drive down to St Ives – or rather, the near-disaster that kicked it off. We’d piled into the car in the pouring rain from up country, kids buzzing with excitement, me navigating via a dodgy phone signal that kept rerouting us through every tractor-lined lane in Cornwall. Then, about 20 minutes from Carbis Bay, the heavens really opened and we got stuck behind a holiday caravan doing 20mph on a single-track road. Cue one small domestic: my other half muttering about “relaxed family breaks” while I tried not to laugh. But honestly, that little mishap just built the anticipation – by the time we crested the hill and spotted the glittering bay below, all was forgiven.

Pulling up to our first-floor apartment, we were gobsmacked. It’s the sort of place that screams luxury without trying too hard – all open-plan with a kitchen, diner and sitting room flowing into one another, and a massive wall of windows framing panoramic views across Carbis Bay beach right to St Ives headland and that famous Godrevy Lighthouse in the distance. Virginia Woolf would’ve approved; it’s the kind of vista that makes you want to grab a book and a cuppa and forget the world. First impressions? Pure magic. We dumped the bags, cracked open the prosecco, and just stared out at the waves crashing in, seals bobbing about like they owned the place.

The next few days settled into that perfect rhythm of cottage life chaos meets seaside bliss. Mornings started with brekkie chaos – me burning toast while the kids raided the fridge, but who cared when you could watch fishing boats chug out from St Ives harbour? We’d wander down to Carbis Bay beach, just a short stroll away, building wonky sandcastles and paddling in the rock pools till our toes went numb. The beach is a proper family gem – soft sand, gentle waves, and not too crowded if you time it right.

Afternoons were for ambling into St Ives, hopping on the little branch line train from Carbis Bay station for that scenic puff along the cliffs – the kids loved pretending it was a steam engine. We poked around the harbour, scoffing fish and chips wrapped in paper (salty fingers and all), watching artists at their easels capturing the light on Porthmeor Beach. Evenings back at the flat were simple joys: barbecues on the balcony with the sun dipping behind the lighthouse, board games that descended into giggles and mild arguments over Monopoly rules. One night, the fog rolled in thick as clotted cream, turning the view ethereal – cue ghost stories that had the little ones hiding under blankets.

Looking back, it was those unpolished moments that made it – the sand tracked through the flat, the queue for pasties, me reflecting on how we’d all needed this reset from the daily grind. In a world that’s always rushing, this spot nailed the art of slowing down. If you’re after a relaxed family escape with views to inspire and chaos to cherish, it doesn’t get much better. We’re already plotting a return.