We’d barely got out of the car when the satnav decided to have its own little moment, cheerfully announcing we’d arrived at the cottage when we were still two streets away, which meant we spent a good ten minutes hauling suitcases in the wrong direction before realising our mistake. By the time we finally unlocked the door of the 5 Bed Cottage in Scalby, the sun was already high and the air smelled faintly of salt and warm grass. The garden caught us first – a strip of lawn with a couple of wooden chairs that looked like they’d been waiting for us all morning. We dumped the bags inside without even bothering to unpack properly and headed straight back out with a blanket and a couple of paperbacks.

That first afternoon set the tone for the whole stay. We didn’t have grand plans; the beach was only a short walk down the lane, and once we’d found a spot on the sand it felt daft to move again. The tide was out, leaving wide stretches of damp, rippled shore that caught the light like polished metal. I read the same paragraph three times before giving up and just watching the gulls wheel overhead. My partner dozed with one arm flung across their eyes, and every so often one of us would murmur something about needing an ice cream, but neither of us actually got up to fetch one.

Back at the cottage the evenings stretched out in the same easy way. We sat in the garden with mugs of tea until the light faded, listening to the occasional car pass on the road and the soft chatter of neighbours a few gardens over. Inside, the kitchen was roomy enough that we could leave the door open and let the evening breeze wander through while we heated up something simple from the local shop. No rush, no timetable, just the low hum of doing very little.

I’d come away thinking I ought to be more productive – walk further, see more, tick things off – yet by the second morning the thought barely crossed my mind. The cottage’s garden and the nearby stretch of beach gave us all the space we needed to slow down without feeling guilty about it. One afternoon I found myself lying on the blanket again, half-listening to the waves and half-dozing, and realised the only thing I’d properly achieved that day was finishing half a novel and not checking my phone once. It felt like a small, quiet victory.

By the time we packed up to leave, the satnav mishap already seemed like part of the charm. We hadn’t conquered any long coastal paths or explored beyond the immediate neighbourhood, but the days had been exactly what we needed: sunny, unhurried, and gently forgettable in the best possible way.