We’d barely made it out of Dorchester before the satnav decided we needed a quick detour through someone’s farmyard. One wrong turn and there we were, tyres crunching on gravel while a rather unimpressed sheep stared us down from the hedge. By the time we found the right lane again, the kids were giggling and I was trying not to laugh too loudly at my own map-reading skills. Still, the mishap set the tone for the whole weekend: nothing grand, just small surprises and plenty of easy laughter.

Sunny Croft sits just off the road that drops towards Weymouth’s wide, sandy sweep. From the moment we pulled up, the smell of salt and warm grass hit us, and the cottage felt instantly welcoming. Pale stone walls, a little wooden gate that squeaked, and a bench outside already catching the afternoon sun. We tumbled out with bags and buckets, the children racing straight for the garden to see if they could spot the sea between the rooftops.

Inside, everything was simple and ready. A bright kitchen with mugs lined up on the side, a squishy sofa that looked made for rainy-day board games, and a pile of old paperbacks on the windowsill. We didn’t unpack properly; we just dropped the bags and headed straight out again, flip-flops slapping on the pavement as we followed the short lane down to the beach.

The sand was still warm underfoot when we arrived, the tide well out and families dotted along the shore with windbreaks and picnic rugs. We claimed a spot near the old stone jetty and watched the little boats bob while the children hunted for shells. Later we wandered along the esplanade for fish and chips in paper, the vinegar sharp enough to make us all pull faces and then reach for more. Back at the cottage the garden caught the last of the light, and we sat with mugs of tea, feet up, listening to the distant sound of waves and the occasional seagull.

What struck me most was how quickly the usual rush slipped away. I’d arrived half-expecting to tick off sights and keep everyone entertained, yet here we were, perfectly content doing almost nothing. The funny detour on the way in already felt like part of the story, a reminder that the best bits often happen when plans wobble a little. As the evening cooled and the children grew sleepy on the sofa, I found myself thinking that sometimes the simplest places give you the clearest view of what a holiday is really for.