I’ll never forget the drive down to Weymouth – we’d packed the car to the gills with beach toys, snacks, and enough crisps to siege a castle, only for the sat-nav to chuck a wobbly just past Dorchester. It rerouted us down some dodgy B-road, and there we were, crawling behind a tractor belching fumes, with the kids in the back chanting “Are we there yet?” like a broken record. I was this close to turning into my own dad, muttering about “in my day we used maps.” But honestly, that little mishap just ramped up the anticipation – by the time we hit the outskirts, I was buzzing, picturing sandy toes and fish and chips by the sea.

Pulling up to our second-floor apartment in the thick of Weymouth town centre felt like striking gold. It’s one of those bright, airy spots plonked right in the heart of things, an easy stroll to shops, pubs, and that cracking award-winning beach just moments away. We hauled our bags up the stairs (note to self: pack lighter next time), flung open the door, and blimey, first impressions were spot on. The living/dining room’s massive window floods the place with light, making it feel dead spacious and welcoming, and those sliding doors to the balcony? Pure bliss. We cracked open a brew straight away, plonked ourselves down with cups of tea, and gazed left at the distant harbour views. It was like the holiday had already started, right there with the salt air wafting in.

The separate kitchen had all the gear for knocking up simple meals – nothing fancy, but perfect for our self-catering vibe. That first night, we rustled up spag bol amid the chaos of unpacking, kids scattering sand from their shoes (we hadn’t even hit the beach yet), and me burning the garlic bread because I got distracted by a seagull nicking a chip off the balcony rail. Classic family holiday pandemonium, and I wouldn’t swap it.

Next morning, we ambled down to the beach – Weymouth’s sandy stretch is a proper gem, all golden and gentle waves lapping in. The little ones built wonky sandcastles while we parents lounged with pasties from the bakery on the front. Afternoons were for lazy wanders along the esplanade, ice creams dripping faster than the kids could lick, and a splash in the sea pool if the tide was cheeky. Evenings? Back at the flat, we’d scoff fish suppers from the chippy round the corner, sprawl on the sofa catching telly, or plot the next day over cups of tea on the balcony as the sun dipped. One night, we even spotted boats chugging in the harbour – magic for the price of a brew.

It got me reflecting, mid-holiday, on how these simple pleasures hit different when you’re knackered from proper life back home. No grand plans, just beachcombing for pretty shells, a mooch round the harbour for crab pots, and the odd arcade go on the pier where I hilariously lost to my six-year-old at the 2p machines. The cottage life chaos – sandy floors, endless laundry, kids hyped on sugar – it’s all part of the joy, innit? Makes you appreciate the quiet moments, like that balcony sunrise with the family still snoozing.

Weymouth nailed it for our relaxed family break. If you’re after seaside simplicity without the faff, this is your spot. We’re already plotting a return – sat-nav permitting.