I’ll never forget the drive up from Edinburgh to Pittenweem – or rather, the bit where we took a wrong turn just past Kirkcaldy and ended up looping round some narrow back road with sheep giving us the evil eye. Typical me, fiddling with the sat-nav while my other half dozed in the passenger seat. Still, it added a bit of unintended adventure, and by the time we rolled into that charming little fishing village on the Fife coast, the sun was dipping low over the sea, turning everything golden. We were buzzing with that holiday anticipation, you know? The kind where you imagine cosy evenings and not a care in the world.

Pulling up to the place – the upper two floors of a proper old Grade II listed fisherman’s cottage from 1850, right on the seafront at Midshore – it was love at first sight. Prime spot, uninterrupted views of the waves crashing below and that distant speck of the Isle of May out on the horizon. Perfectly named for being bang by the water, it had two double bedrooms, every room peering out to sea. Ideal for us lot, really – me, my partner, and my mate’s other half tagging along for a lazy getaway.

From the off, it was all about doing bugger all, and I mean that in the best possible way. No grand plans, no ticking off St Andrews’ castles or Anstruther’s chip shops (though we did wander down for fish suppers one evening, naturally). Nah, the joy was in slowing right down. We’d crack open the French windows first thing, brew a pot of tea, and flop into those chairs in the garden area, feet up, watching gulls wheel about and fishing boats bob in the harbour. The sea air was crisp, salty, proper bracing stuff that makes you feel alive without trying.

Days blurred into this blissful rhythm. Mornings meant lounging with a book – I finally cracked that thriller I’d been lugging around for months, chuckling at the daft plot twists while the tide rolled in. Afternoons? More of the same: dozing under a blanket as clouds scudded by, or nipping out for a gentle stroll along the shore path towards the village green, nodding at locals who all seemed to know each other’s business. One day, I caught myself just staring at the horizon for a solid half hour, mesmerised by the light dancing on the waves. When was the last time I’d let my mind wander like that? Work’s always nagging, emails piling up, but here? It all faded. Gentle nudge to the soul, that – reminding you life’s not about the hustle.

Evenings were pure magic. We’d rustle up simple suppers – pasta, a bit of local seafood from the harbour – then settle in with a glass of wine, windows flung wide to the sound of the sea. Laughter over nothing much, that easy chatter you only get on holiday. No telly blaring, no rush. Just us, the cottage’s cosy nooks, and the endless rhythm of the waves.

Heading back to reality felt brutal, but those lazy days recharged me proper. If you’re after a spot to switch off in Fife’s prettiest corner, hunt out a seafront bolthole like this. Pure bliss.