I’ll never forget the drive up to Scarborough – or rather, the bit just before we arrived. We’d piled into the car from Leeds with a boot full of snacks and a playlist of proper northern indie tunes, buzzing about finally getting away. But about 20 minutes out, just past the moors’ edge, the satnav decided to throw a wobbly and sent us down a narrow lane that turned into a muddy track. “This can’t be right,” I muttered, as we bumped along like we were in a rally. Turned out it was a cheeky shortcut, but we emerged laughing, covered in a fine layer of North Yorkshire dust, hearts racing a bit more than planned.

Pulling up to the cottage, though, all that faded. Tucked on the southeastern fringes of the North York Moors, it’s this chic little modern haven with a cracking position – close enough for a quick zip into Scarborough if you fancy fish and chips, but far enough to feel worlds away. First impressions? Spot on. The place just welcomed us in, all cosy and inviting, with that woodburner in the living area begging for a fire later. We dumped the bags, cracked open a couple of tins, and flopped straight onto the sofa. No grand plans, mind – this trip was all about doing bugger all, and it felt brilliant.

The garden sealed it. Overgrown just enough to feel wild, with views stretching out to the rolling moors. We spent the first afternoon out there with mugs of tea, feet up on wonky garden chairs, watching rabbits hop about and clouds scud across the sky. I cracked open my battered copy of a Philip Pullman novel I’d been meaning to revisit – you know, the one that makes you forget time exists? Hours vanished. No rushing to hit the beach crowds at South Bay or traipsing up to Scarborough Castle (tempting as they were, a five-minute drive away). Nah, we were proper slowing down, letting the quiet soak in.

Evenings were pure bliss. I’d rustle up something simple in the well-kitted kitchen – pasta with whatever veg we’d grabbed from Seamer’s little shops – then we’d eat at the snug dining spot for two, plates steaming. After, it was woodburner crackling, a board game like Scrabble (where I inevitably lost, spectacularly), or bingeing some daft telly. One night, I caught myself staring into the flames, thinking how rare it is to just… be. No emails pinging, no mates texting about footy scores. Work’s always nagging at me back home – that endless to-do list – but here, in this little bubble, I realised how much I needed the pause. It’s daft, innit? You save up for a holiday and the best bit’s realising you don’t need to do a thing.

Next morning, same vibe: lazy brekkie in the garden, more reading, maybe a gentle wander along nearby paths if the fancy took us. Scarborough’s seaside hum was there if we wanted it – chippy aromas wafting on the breeze – but mostly, we stayed put, savouring the nothing-much. By the end of the week, I felt recharged, lighter. If you’re after proper downtime, this is the spot. Slow the world right down.