I finally made it to Scarborough after a bit of a faff on the A64 – took a wrong turn near York and ended up in some sleepy village, faffing about with the satnav while the kids in the back groaned like they were auditioning for a misery play. But as we crested the hill into town, there it was: the sea sparkling under that classic Yorkshire sky, and my heart did a little flip. I'd been buzzing about this holiday for weeks, picturing lazy days by the coast, and pulling up outside our massive holiday cottage right by the cricket ground felt like winning the lottery.

Stepping inside, I was gobsmacked – it's this grand, beautifully kept place with eight bedrooms, perfect for our big rabble of family and mates. The vibe is spot-on cosy yet posh, smack in the heart of Scarborough, just a hop from the beach and all the chip shops you could shake a stick at. We dumped the bags and beelined for the kitchen, which is kitted out like a telly chef's dream. Whipped up some fish finger butties for the troops, then sprawled around the huge dining table, chatting rubbish and watching the world go by through the windows overlooking the cricket pitch. No pressure, no itinerary – just pure, unadulterated lounging.

The real joy kicked in the next morning, when we discovered the garden. It's this cracking little oasis, tucked away but with glimpses of the sea, and we claimed it like pirates on a treasure island. Hot tub bubbling away in the corner – oh yes. I spent hours there, feet up, sipping tea from a mug that said 'Yorkshire Lass' (cheesy, but spot on), while the others flopped on the loungers with books and crosswords. Me? I cracked open my battered copy of a James Herriot novel – fitting, being in Yorkshire – and lost myself in tales of vetting cows and country folk. The sun filtered through, warm but not scorching, and every now and then you'd hear the distant crash of waves or a seagull squawking like it owned the place.

We did bugger all, and it was brilliant. One afternoon, I wandered down to the beach – all of five minutes away – for a paddle in the North Sea (bracing, as you'd expect), then back for more garden time. The cinema room called later; we chucked on an old Carry On film, piled under blankets with popcorn, laughing till our sides hurt. No rushing to attractions or ticking boxes – just slowing right down, letting the days blur into one long, happy haze. I caught myself one evening, staring out at the cricket ground as the sun dipped, thinking how daft I'd been rushing through life back home. Here, with the hot tub jets massaging my feet and a proper brew in hand, everything felt... right. Simple pleasures, innit?

By the end of the week, we were all a bit reluctant to pack up. Scarborough's got that magic for doing sod all and loving every minute – the cottage made it effortless. If you're after a proper unwind, this is your spot. Can't wait to go back.