We’d barely left the M4 when the satnav decided to take us on a scenic detour through every single roundabout in west Wales. By the time we pulled up outside the 4 Bed Cottage in Saundersfoot, the kids were bickering about who’d had the last biscuit and I was convinced the postcode had been invented by someone with a grudge. The front door key was supposedly in a lockbox, but the code on my phone had mysteriously rearranged itself, so there I was, crouched on the doorstep, muttering at a metal box while the seagulls watched with interest.

Once we finally got inside, the cottage felt like it had been waiting for us. The kitchen was warm from the afternoon sun, and the living room opened straight onto a little patio with just enough room for four folding chairs and a view of rooftops sloping down towards the sea. We dumped the bags, kicked off our shoes, and wandered the short lane to the beach without any real plan. The tide was out, leaving a wide stretch of damp sand perfect for the children to race across while I tried to remember where I’d put the sun cream.

Back at the cottage, unpacking turned into an impromptu picnic on the living-room floor because nobody could be bothered with proper plates. The fridge was already stocked with the basics we’d ordered, so tea was nothing more than toast and a shared packet of Welsh cakes that somehow tasted better for being slightly squashed. Later, with the children finally settled in the two upstairs bedrooms, my partner and I sat on the patio with mugs of tea, listening to the faint rush of waves and the occasional burst of laughter from next door’s garden. It struck me, in that quiet moment, how little we actually needed: just a comfortable place to land, the sea a few minutes’ walk away, and the gentle permission to do absolutely nothing in particular.

The next morning began with the same unhurried rhythm. We wandered down to the harbour for fresh bread and ended up lingering by the boats, watching crabs scuttle in the shallows. Back at the cottage the patio became our base camp; books were read, sand was brushed off feet, and someone always seemed to be refilling the kettle. By the second evening I realised I’d stopped checking my phone altogether. The mishap with the lockbox already felt like a story we’d tell on the drive home, and the cottage, with its easy layout and proximity to the beach, had done exactly what we’d hoped: given us space to slow down without any fuss.