I’ll never forget the drive up to Scarborough – we’d planned this little getaway for months, just me and Sarah, dreaming of fish and chips on the beach and lazy evenings by the sea. But typical us, we hit a snag right out of Leeds: the sat nav decided to play silly buggers and sent us on a detour through some winding lanes that felt like they were leading to Narnia. We ended up stopping at a random farm shop for directions, laughing our heads off as the farmer’s dog tried to nick my crisps. Still, it built the anticipation – by the time we crested the hill and spotted the sea glinting in the distance, we were buzzing.

Pulling up to the lodge that afternoon, my first impressions were spot on. Tucked into a peaceful spot just a short stroll from the South Cliff, it had that cosy, Scandi-inspired vibe with clean lines, big windows flooding the place with light, and a hot tub peeking out the back like a cheeky invitation to relax. We dumped our bags and cracked open a bottle of fizz on the deck, watching the sun dip over the bay. Proper lush, it was – felt like our own private slice of Yorkshire coast.

The next few days blurred into that perfect cottage chaos we crave. Mornings kicked off with brews in the well-kitted kitchen, then a wander down to the beach for a paddle in the North Sea (bracing, but brilliant). We hit up the Italian Gardens for a picnic – Sarah packed cheese scones that somehow ended up mostly in the seagulls’ bellies, which had us in stitches. Afternoons were for ambling along the Esplanade, grabbing 99s from the van and people-watching the families building sandcastles. One evening, we even tried our hand at a beachcombing treasure hunt, unearthing bits of sea glass and pretending we were pirates. The hot tub became our nightly ritual, bubbles and wine under the stars, chatting about nothing and everything.

Of course, it wasn’t all seamless – I managed to lock myself out mid-afternoon while Sarah was napping, faffing about in flip-flops until the host popped by with the spare key. Cue gentle ribbing from her for the rest of the trip: “You’d forget your head if it wasn’t screwed on!” But that’s the joy of these breaks, isn’t it? No schedules, just us muddling through the simple stuff, rediscovering why we’re best mates after all these years.

We wrapped up with a final fry-up at a café overlooking the harbour, watching the fishing boats bob. Driving home, windswept and a tad sunburnt, I felt that quiet glow of a holiday done right. Scarborough’s got that magic for couples like us – unpretentious, full of little joys, and just chaotic enough to keep it real. Can’t wait to go back.