I’ll never forget the drive down to Saundersfoot – we’d packed the car to the gills with cool bags, beach towels, and our little terrier, Monty, who was already whining from the back seat. About halfway through Carmarthenshire, disaster struck: I took a wrong turn onto some narrow lane that dead-ended at a muddy farm track. Cue 20 minutes of reversing with hedges scraping the mirrors, me sweating and swearing under my breath (well, almost), while my other half stifled giggles. But as we finally rolled into the coastal village, the sea air hit us like a tonic, and all was forgiven. Saundersfoot’s that perfect pocket of Pembrokeshire calm, with its sandy bay glinting in the sun. Spotting our ground-floor apartment tucked into a tranquil spot, my heart lifted – we were buzzing with that arrival buzz, you know?

Stepping inside was pure relief. It’s beautifully refurbished, with an open-plan living space that just flows – welcoming sitting area by the telly for downtime, and a kitchen kitted out with all the gear, including a dishwasher that became my best mate by day two. The patio doors opened straight onto a private bit of green leading to communal gardens, ideal for Monty to sniff about while we cracked open a bottle of something chilled. First impressions? Spot on for a family of four needing a seaside unwind.

But let’s be honest, the real star of our stay was the food – or should I say, our heroic attempts at it. Day one, I fancied playing masterchef in that slick kitchen. Nabbed fresh mackerel from the harbour stalls (Saundersfoot’s got those honest fishing boats unloading daily), teamed it with new potatoes and samphire foraged from the beach path – well, bought from the veg man, but it felt foraged. It was a triumph, wolfed down on the patio as the sun dipped. Next morning, we hit the local market in the village square – proper Pembrokeshire stuff: artisan bread from the bakery van, crumbly Welsh cheeses, and plump strawberries that tasted like summer. Loaded up for picnics, but mostly for lazy suppers.

Pub grub stole the show, mind. Strolled five minutes to The Mermaid on the quay – classic seaside boozer with beams (sorry, couldn’t resist) and the freshest crab salads. I demolished a pint of local ale with theirs, while the kids tucked into fish and chips wrapped in paper, vinegar dripping everywhere. Another night, The Glen pub just up the hill did us a cracking lamb shank that fell off the bone, washed down with their house red. We even tried cooking a full roast one rainy afternoon – Yorkshire puds rose a treat in the oven, but my gravy was a lumpy disaster. Laughing over it with a takeaway from the chippy round the corner, we reflected on how these daft kitchen fails make holidays memorable. Who needs perfection when you’ve got sandy chips and a dog begging for scraps?

Evenings blurred into more markets for pasties and sausage rolls, fuelling beach walks and pub crawls. That apartment’s kitchen saw more triumphs than disasters (mostly), but it was the local eats – simple, hearty, sea-salted – that had us grinning. Saundersfoot’s food scene is unpretentious joy; we left fatter, happier, and plotting a return. Proper holiday that.