I’ll never forget the drive up to that holiday cottage near Raw – it was one of those classic British road trips that starts with high hopes and ends in a comedy of errors. We’d piled into the car from Leeds, me, my sister, her hubby, and our brood of six kids between us, all buzzing about escaping the daily grind for a proper family blowout. The sat-nav was doing its thing, promising a swift scoot along the A171, but then came the first hitch: a massive caravan crawling along like it had all week. We were stuck behind it for what felt like hours, kids whining for snacks, and me frantically fiddling with the radio to drown out the chaos. Just as we hit the twisty lanes towards Robin Hood’s Bay, disaster struck – a rogue sheep decided to dart right in front of us. I slammed on the brakes, heart in my mouth, and we all burst out laughing as the little woolly escapee trotted off into the hedge like nothing happened. “Welcome to the countryside,” I quipped, trying to play it cool while my palms sweated on the wheel.

By the time we finally rolled up to the place, late afternoon sun dipping low over the North Yorkshire coast, we were a right state – crisps crumbs everywhere, one kid carsick, and me questioning my life choices as a designated driver. But oh, what a payoff. Pulling into the drive, we were gobsmacked by the views: endless sea stretching out along the Heritage Coast one way, rolling countryside the other. This was no bog-standard holiday let; it’s a proper group retreat, four bedrooms sleeping eight, with a cheeky annexe for anyone craving a bit of peace – perfect for us lot, especially my sister who nabs solitude like it’s going out of fashion. The gardens? Gorgeous, wild and welcoming, begging for a mooch about with a cuppa. And there, tucked away, a bubbling hot tub that had us all grinning like idiots before we’d even unpacked.

First impressions? Magic from the off. We tumbled out, bags flying, and within minutes were kicking off shoes to explore. The anticipation I’d built up all week – those coastal panoramas I’d drooled over online – didn’t disappoint; if anything, they hit harder in real life. We cracked open a bottle of fizz on the terrace as the sun set, painting the bay in pinks and oranges. Dinner was a hasty fish and chips run from Robin Hood’s Bay, just a mile down the road – proper greasy newspaper wrapping and all – devoured while the kids chased each other round the garden. Later, a dip in the hot tub under the stars, steam rising as we swapped stories, felt like pure bliss after the road rage.

Looking back, that messy arrival was a gift, really. It knocked any pretensions out of us and reminded me why we do these trips: not for perfection, but for the shared giggles and those jaw-dropping moments that make you breathe easier. We spent the next days pottering to the bay’s beach for pebble-hunting and ice creams, nipping to Raw’s quiet paths for bracing walks, and holing up with board games when the inevitable Yorkshire drizzle rolled in. It was chaotic, it was cosy, and it was exactly what we needed. If you’re after a hideaway that delivers big on views and vibes, this spot near Whitby’s edge is a belter – just watch out for the sheep.