I’ll never forget the drive up to Portrush – or rather, the bit just before Castlerock where the sat-nav decided to have a midlife crisis and sent us down a narrow lane that looked more like a sheep track. We were crammed into the car with the dog whining in the back, rain lashing the windscreen, and me frantically googling “nearest petrol station” while my other half gripped the wheel like it was a lifeline. A classic family holiday start, right? But as we finally rolled into the coastal outskirts, the North Antrim sea air hit us, and all was forgiven. I could already taste the chippy adventures ahead.

Pulling up to our single-storey bungalow, I was buzzing with that first-holiday thrill – you know, imagining cosy nights in after beach walks. It’s a proper gem, all ground-floor easy living with a cracking electric fire for chilly evenings and a hot tub that promised pure bliss. Pet-friendly too, which was a godsend for our daft Labrador. Four bedrooms sorted us lot perfectly – three doubles and a master with its own en-suite walk-in shower. The family bathroom’s got a bath big enough for a good soak after a day out. And that pub just a stroll away? Chef’s kiss from the off.

First morning, we were straight into food mode. Nipped down to the local shop in Castlerock for supplies – fresh soda bread, Ulster fry essentials like bacon, sausages, and black pudding, plus a punnet of local strawberries that were so sweet they didn’t need sugar. I fancied myself as a proper chef, firing up the kitchen for breakfast. Attempted a full Ulster fry but somehow turned the eggs into rubbery frisbees. Laughable, really – my lot politely choked it down while I reflected on why I stick to toast at home. Lesson learned: leave the frying pan to the pros.

Lunch was sorted at the beachside café near Benone – think golden fish and chips wrapped in paper, mushy peas on the side, with vinegar dripping everywhere. Sat on the sand, wind whipping our hair, demolishing them while the dog begged for scraps. Pure heaven. Evenings, we’d wander to that welcoming pub down the lane. Pints of the black stuff, hearty bowls of seafood chowder loaded with mussels from the Causeway Coast, and sticky toffee pudding that had us all groaning in delight. One night, I tried cooking again – a simple pasta with smoked haddock from the Castlerock market stall we’d spotted. Overdid the garlic, mind, but washed down with local craft beer, it wasn’t half bad. Made me think, holidays are for these daft kitchen experiments; at home, we’d just order a curry.

Portrush’s food scene kept delivering. Popped into town for Morelli’s ice cream – massive knickerbocker glories that took two spoons each. And the Sunday market? Bargain heaven: artisan cheeses, wheaten bread, and crab claws straight off the boats. We loaded up, then back to the bungalow for a hot tub feast of picnic-style platters, bubbles fizzing away. Reflecting on it now, amid the laughter and mild food comas, it hit me – these stays aren’t just about the views (stunning as they are), but the joy of shared meals, wonky cooking fails, and that pub glow. Can’t wait to go back for more.