I’ll never forget the drive up to St Abbs last summer – we’d packed the car to bursting with kids’ beach toys, cool bags stuffed with picnic sarnies, and that nagging sense of excitement building as the sat-nav cheerfully announced we were nearly there. But typical us, about ten miles out, we hit a sheep traffic jam on one of those twisty Borders roads. Dozens of the woolly blighters blocking the way, with a farmer herding them at a pace slower than my nan on a Sunday stroll. The kids thought it was hilarious, pressing their faces to the windows yelling “Baa-ram-ewe!” while I drummed my fingers on the wheel, secretly loving the absurdity of it all. A right proper Scottish welcome, that was.

By the time we rolled into the village, the sun was dipping low over the North Sea, painting everything golden, and my heart did a little flip. There it was – this cracking little apartment perched up high, attached to the owners’ place, with views that hit you like a wave right from the off. We clambered up the external staircase at the back, bags bumping everywhere, and stepped into the open-plan living room. Blimey, the sea stretched out forever from the sitting area, sofa bed all cosy for the little ones, and a telly for rainy days (not that we needed it much). The kitchen behind was compact but kitted out proper – hob, oven, everything for knocking up a family tea without fuss. First impressions? Spot on. It felt like instant home, with that homely vibe that makes you exhale and think, yeah, this is the one.

We were there for a proper family unwind, nothing fancy, just soaking up the Borders magic. Mornings started with brekkie gazing at cormorants diving off St Abbs Head – a short stroll away, that dramatic cliff path with puffins nesting in summer (we timed it perfect). The kids dashed about the shared gardens, building pebble castles and chasing butterflies, while I nipped down to the harbour in St Abbs village for fresh crab from the boats. Afternoons were beach days at Coldingham Bay, just a couple of miles along the coast – golden sand, gentle waves for paddling, and fish suppers wrapped in paper from the Eyemouth chippy on the way back. Chaos ensued one evening when we tried a full-on cottage fry-up: sausages spitting oil everywhere, toddler smearing ketchup on the sofa, and me burning the tattie scones while laughing so hard I nearly cried. Simple pleasures, innit? That joyful mess of family life.

Evenings were for unwinding on the sofa, windows flung open to the sea breeze, maybe a board game or spotting seals bobbing about. One night, as the sun set in a blaze of pink, I caught myself just sitting there, mug of tea in hand, watching the waves. Amid the kiddo clamour and boat trailer parked out front (handy for our mate’s wee fishing outing), I had this quiet moment of reflection – how these unhurried days recharge you more than any spa break. St Abbs isn’t showy, but it’s got that gentle pull, reminding you what matters: sand in your socks, full bellies, and loved ones close. We left knackered but buzzing, already plotting a return. If you’re after relaxed cottage bliss in the Scottish Borders, this is your spot.