I’ll never forget the drive down to St Ives – or rather, the near-disaster that kicked it off. We’d packed the car to the brim with beach towels, a cool box of pasties, and enough books to last a siege, when halfway through Devon, the sat-nav decided to throw a wobbly. It rerouted us down some winding B-road that felt more like a goat track, complete with a flock of sheep blocking the way. I ended up honking like a daft tourist while the farmer gave me that classic Cornish side-eye. Still, by the time we crested the hill into Carbis Bay, hearts racing a bit, the anticipation bubbled up. There it was: our holiday haven, a sleek modern retreat perched right on the hillside, all clean lines and glass that promised jaw-dropping sea views. First impressions? Blimey, it didn’t disappoint – we stepped in and straight away, that balcony hit us like a dream.

From the lounge, those floor-to-ceiling windows opened onto an infinity glass balcony with a table and chairs just begging for a cuppa. You could gaze out over Porthminster Beach, past Carrack Gladden all the way to Godrevy Lighthouse, watching the sea shift from moody grey to sparkling turquoise. It sleeps four comfortably, perfect for our little duo, and being a short stroll from the beach and coastal path meant we could wander if we fancied, but honestly, who were we kidding? This trip was all about doing sod all – proper lazy cottage days, the kind where time stretches out like warm toffee.

Mornings started slow: I’d potter out to the garden terrace with a mug of tea from the well-stocked kitchen, plonking down in one of those loungers while the other half snoozed longer. The garden’s a suntrap, wildflowers nodding in the breeze, and you’d hear the waves crashing below like a personal white-noise machine. No rush to anywhere – we’d just sit there, feet up, watching dog-walkers on the beach far below or seals bobbing about offshore. Lunch was a faff-free affair: grab some takeaway fish and chips from a spot in Carbis Bay, eat them straight from the paper on the balcony, licking salt off fingers while the gulls eyed us jealously.

Afternoons blurred into reading marathons. I devoured a battered paperback thriller, losing hours as the sun arced across the sky, changing the sea’s colours every half-hour or so. The other half had a stack of magazines, occasionally reading out funny bits that had us giggling. We did venture out once or twice – a gentle amble along the coastal path to Porthminster, dipping toes in the surf – but mostly, it was back to base for more nothing. Evenings? Balcony dinners of local cream tea (scones demolished with clotted cream first, naturally), or just wine and crisps, chatting about everything and nowt as the lighthouse beam swept the horizon.

Looking back, there was this quiet moment of self-reflection one dusk, sat there with the sea turning gold. Life back home’s a whirlwind – deadlines, emails, the lot – but here, slowing right down felt revolutionary. No FOMO, no hustle; just us, the view, and a profound gratitude for doing precisely bugger all. It recharged the batteries like nothing else. If you’re after a proper unwind in St Ives, find a spot like this. Pure bliss.