I’ll never forget the drive down to Weymouth – sat nav insisting we take the scenic route through some winding Devon lanes, only for us to end up behind a tractor doing about 10 miles an hour. Proper comedy gold, that was, with me drumming my fingers on the wheel and the kids in the back chanting “are we there yet?” like it was some ancient ritual. But as we finally rolled into town, the sea air hit us through the open windows, and all that pent-up anticipation melted away. Weymouth Harbour sparkled under the sun, boats bobbing gently, and I could already picture us kicking back without a care.

Pulling up to our ground-floor apartment right in the heart of it all felt like stumbling on a secret gem. It’s this stylish, contemporary spot, dead central near the beach and all the local bits and bobs – off-road parking too, which was a godsend after the tractor fiasco. We kicked off our shoes at the door and wandered into this brilliant open-plan living space: sleek kitchen begging for a cuppa, a proper dining area, and a comfy sitting spot that screamed “lounge about”. First impressions? Spot on. It was like the place was whispering, “Forget the rush, just unwind.”

And unwind we did. The whole holiday revolved around doing bugger all, and it was bliss. Mornings started lazy – I’d potter in the kitchen, brewing tea and rustling up toast or scrambled eggs, nothing fancy. We’d eat at the dining table, windows flung open to let in the salty breeze, then flop onto the sofas with books and mugs. I devoured a battered paperback thriller I’d brought along, losing hours while the world outside hummed along without us. The kids sprawled with their own reads or doodled, and my other half nodded off with a podcast on. Proper holiday heaven, that.

Afternoons were for the courtyard – our little outdoor haven. We’d drag chairs into the sun, crack open cold drinks, and just sit there. One day, I swear I watched a seagull strut past like he owned the place, which had us in stitches. No grand plans, no traipsing miles to attractions. Just basking, chatting nonsense, maybe a cheeky ice cream from the nearby parlour if we fancied a two-minute wander. Evenings mirrored it all: simple suppers cooked up together – pasta one night, fish and chips the next from a local spot – then back to the courtyard for nightcaps as the sun dipped over the bay. The gentle lap of waves in the distance was our soundtrack.

Looking back, it was a gentle nudge from the universe, wasn’t it? Us lot, always rushing about life, suddenly gifted these lazy days to slow right down. No FOMO, no schedules – just the joy of a good book, a sunny garden patch, and family time that lingers. Weymouth worked its magic on us, proving you don’t need to do much to feel recharged. Can’t wait to go back and do even less.