I’ll never forget the drive down to St Ives – a proper faff, really. We’d set off from Bristol full of beans, sandwiches packed and the sat-nav primed, only for it to chuck us into a massive jam just past Bodmin. Some daft diversion, courtesy of roadworks, had us crawling along for what felt like hours. By the time we finally rolled into town, the sun was dipping low, and I was knackered, wondering if the holiday was already knackered too. But oh, what a turnaround.

Pulling up to the cottage, my heart did a little flip. Perched high above Porthmeor Beach, it’s beautifully furnished and tastefully styled – not only gorgeous to look at, but being above Porthmeor as well as a mere 10 minutes’ walk from St Ives’ restaurants, shops, Tate Gallery and harbour, it offers guests a rather unique combination of away-from-it-all quiet and at-the-centre-of-it-all buzz. First impressions? Spot on. The place wrapped us in this cosy welcome, like slipping into your favourite armchair after a long day. We dumped the bags, cracked open a bottle of Cornish rosé, and just... exhaled.

The joy of it all was doing bugger all – and I mean that in the best possible way. No grand itineraries, no ticking off landmarks like some frantic tourist. Our days blurred into this blissful rhythm of laziness. Mornings started late, with coffee on the go overlooking the sea, waves crashing down below on Porthmeor. I’d potter out to the garden – a proper suntrap, wildflowers nodding in the breeze – and flop into a lounger with a dog-eared paperback. Poldark? No, something lighter, like a Bill Bryson, chuckling away at his mishaps while mine faded into memory.

Afternoons were for more of the same: reading till my eyes went squinty, maybe a gentle amble down to the beach for a paddle if the tide was right, toes in the cool Atlantic. But mostly, we stayed put. Lunch was whatever was in the fridge – pasties from down the road, or a lazy salad with local tomatoes that tasted like summer itself. The other half would doze off in the shade, and I’d sneak another chapter, feeling that rare luxury of time stretching out. Evenings? A short stroll into town for fish and chips by the harbour, watching the boats bob, then back to the cottage for telly and an early night. Pure bliss.

There was this one moment, mid-week, sat in the garden as the sun set over the bay, book forgotten on my lap. I caught myself thinking, ‘When did I last switch off like this?’ Work’s always nagging, life rushing by – but here, time slowed to a crawl. It was a gentle nudge: maybe doing less is the real point. We left feeling recharged, not knackered. If you fancy a holiday that’s all about savouring the quiet, this corner of St Ives is magic. Proper recommend.