I’ll never forget the drive down to Weymouth – a proper faff from the Midlands, with our sat-nav deciding to have a midlife crisis just past Salisbury. It kept rerouting us through some winding B-road that felt like it was leading to Narnia, and we ended up stuck behind a tractor for what seemed like hours. By the time we rolled into town, I was knackered, but spotting the sea sparkling in the distance perked me right up. Weymouth’s got that magic, doesn’t it? That buzz of holidaymakers milling about, ice creams in hand, and the faint tang of chips on the breeze.

Pulling up to the place, my heart did a little flip – it was even better than the photos. This duplex apartment right in the thick of it all, with a bright open-plan living space that just screams 'relax'. The sea views from the lounge? Stunning. You could gaze out at the waves crashing on the beach while the world whizzes by below. Perfect spot for us lot – me, the missus, and the two kids – to flop down and finally switch off. No grand plans, just the joy of doing bugger all.

First morning, I brewed a coffee in the easy-to-use kitchen and plonked myself on the sofa, book in hand. The light pours in, bouncing off the sea like it’s showing off. We’d brought a stack of paperbacks – nothing too brainy, just escapist yarns – and that’s how the days unfolded: lazy sprawls with pages turning slower than the tide. The kids vanished into the garden for a bit, messing about with buckets and spades they’d found, building epic sandcastles that never quite made it to the beach. It’s a proper suntrap out there, tucked away but still with that salty air wafting over. I’d wander out with a cuppa, feet up on a lounger, listening to them giggle while pretending to read the paper.

Afternoons blurred into siestas. One day, I caught myself staring at a gull wheeling over the harbour, mesmerised by how it just... existed. No deadlines, no emails pinging. We’d amble down to the esplanade for fish and chips from one of those beach huts – proper greasy perfection wrapped in paper – then back for more lounging. Sunsets were the highlight: sipping wine at the dining table for four, watching the sky turn pink over Portland Bill. No need to chase sunsets elsewhere; they came to us.

It got me thinking, mid-week, feet dangling off the balcony. Life’s a right rush back home – work, school runs, the lot. Here, doing very little felt like the point. A gentle nudge to slow down, breathe deeper. We did dip a toe in the sea once, but mostly it was garden naps, book marathons, and that glorious nothing. Weymouth wrapped us in its arms, and honestly, I could’ve stayed forever. Best holiday reset ever.