I’ll never forget the drive down to St Ives – we’d packed the car to the brim with beach gear and snacks, buzzing with that holiday excitement, only for the sat-nav to chuck a wobbly just past Truro. It rerouted us down some winding B-road that felt like it was leading straight into the sea, and in my haste to beat the traffic, I missed a turn and ended up in a dead-end farm track. Classic me, turning a three-hour journey into a four-hour comedy of errors, but honestly, it just amped up the anticipation. By the time we crested the hill and spotted the glittering bay, hearts were racing.

Pulling up to our luxury apartment right in the heart of St Ives, I was chuffed to bits. It’s one of those well-presented spots, just a short stroll from the shops, restaurants and harbour, done up to a high standard with quality fixtures. A few steps from the street into the communal hallway, then up another staircase to our door – high ceilings giving it that proper traditional vibe. Inside, the master bedroom’s a king-size treat with an en-suite shower, and there’s a sumptuous twin room sharing a cracking bathroom complete with a sunken bath and a telly built right into the wall. Perfect for our little family escape to one of Cornwall’s prettiest towns. First impressions? Spot on – we dumped the bags and were out exploring before the kettle had boiled.

St Ives is brilliant for the obvious stuff like Porthmeor Beach or a pasty from the harbour, but the real magic happened when we ditched the map and got properly lost. That first afternoon, wandering away from the main drag, we stumbled on a hidden cove down a sneaky path off The Digey – couldn’t even see the sea from the top, but there it was, a turquoise pocket of water lapping at jagged rocks, empty save for a couple of seals bobbing about. We spent hours there, paddling and picnicking, feeling like we’d nicked a secret from the tourists.

The next day, aiming for a cream tea, we veered off down a narrow lane behind St Ia’s church and found this tucked-away artists’ nook – not the big galleries, but a wee studio where a local potter was glazing pots with sea-glass shards. Chatted to her for ages, bought a wonky mug that’s now my favourite, all because we took a wrong turn. Evenings were for more serendipity: one night, lost in the backstreets near Bamaluz Beach, we happened on a tiny seafood shack dishing out the freshest crab claws, run by a chap who looked like he’d stepped out of a Smuggler’s Tale. Sat on upturned crates, scoffing away as the sun dipped – pure gold.

Getting lost like that made me reflect a bit, you know? In the rush of daily life back home, I’m always glued to the phone, plotting the efficient route. But here, embracing the meanders unlocked these off-the-beaten-track gems that felt like they were just for us. No grand adventures, just quiet joys – a reminder to loosen the reins sometimes. We left St Ives sunburnt, sandy and smiling, already plotting the next accidental detour.