I’ll never forget the drive down to St Ives – we’d packed the car to the gills with beach towels, snacks, and enough board games to last a nuclear winter, only for the sat-nav to chuck a wobbly just past Redruth. It decided the scenic route through some narrow lanes was a brilliant idea, leaving us wedged behind a tractor for what felt like hours. By the time we finally rolled into town, I was half-convinced we’d end up sleeping in the car park. But oh, what a relief when we pulled up to this cracking modern place right in the heart of it all. From the off, it screamed stylish holiday vibes – spacious enough for our lot of six without anyone treading on toes, and those first impressions? Spot on. I could already picture lazy days ahead.

We’d been buzzing with that arrival anticipation, you know, the kind where you imagine epic walks along Porthmeor Beach or scoffing pasties at the harbour. But honestly, the joy of this trip turned out to be doing bugger all – proper slowing down, the sort of holiday where your biggest decision is tea or coffee. The property was perfect for it: all sleek wooden floors that made it feel airy and inviting, with a cracking sitting room that became our command centre. Colder mornings, we’d pile onto the massive sofas, fire up the woodburner, and lose ourselves in a film on the projector – popcorn optional, but highly recommended. Warmer afternoons? Those bi-folding doors swung wide open, letting the sea breeze waft through while we sprawled at the huge dining table for a family feast. The kitchen was a dream too, kitted out with everything you’d need to knock up a fry-up or a posh salad without breaking a sweat. Downstairs, there was even a super-king bed with its own en-suite for the lucky sods who nabbed it first, plus a family shower room that kept the peace.

Most days blurred into this blissful rhythm of lounging in the garden, feet up on whatever chairs we could drag out. It’s a tidy little spot, private enough to feel like your own secret nook amid the buzz of St Ives. I’d crack open a book – some daft thriller I’d been meaning to read for months – and let the hours slip by. The others did the same: kids with their comics, other half with a podcast, me nodding off under the sun. We’d wander five minutes to the beach for a paddle in the shallows at low tide, or grab fish and chips from a shack down the road, but that was it. No grand plans, no rushing. One afternoon, I caught myself just staring out at the harbour view from the garden, waves lapping lazily, and had this gentle moment of reflection – when did life get so frantic back home? Here, time stretched out like toffee, reminding me that sometimes the best recharge is doing precisely nowt.

By the end of the week, we were all a bit reluctant to pack up. St Ives has that magic for switching off, and this place nailed it – stylish, comfy, and right where the good life happens. If you’re after a holiday of pure, unadulterated chill, you can’t go wrong.