We’d been on the road since dawn, the satnav cheerfully promising we’d be there by lunchtime, though the M4 had other ideas with a stretch of cones and a tailback that felt endless. By the time we turned off towards the coast near Bridgend, the sun was already low and we were both starving and a touch irritable. I was convinced I knew the final lane without checking the map again, which is how we ended up reversing out of someone’s driveway while a bemused sheep looked on from the hedge. My partner didn’t say a word, just raised an eyebrow that said everything.

When we finally pulled up at The Cwtch, the relief was instant. The little stone cottage sat just back from the road, its pale walls catching the last of the light and a neat gravel path leading straight to the door. A faint smell of the sea drifted over the low wall, and I could hear the waves without even stepping onto the beach path. The key was exactly where the host had promised, tucked under the flowerpot, and the door opened with that satisfying old latch clunk that makes you feel you’ve properly arrived.

Inside, the space felt instantly welcoming: low ceilings, a squashy sofa facing the window, and a wood burner already laid ready for later. From the kitchen table we could see straight across to the sand, where a couple of dog-walkers were silhouetted against the water. I dropped the bags, kicked off my shoes, and padded straight out the back door onto the narrow lane that leads down to the beach in under a minute. The air was sharp and salty, and the tide was on its way out, leaving a wide stretch of damp sand perfect for an evening stroll.

We wandered down with a takeaway pasty each from the little shop in the village, eating them on a bench while the sky turned peach and pink. It felt good to be still after hours of traffic, and the mishap with the driveway already seemed like the sort of story we’d laugh about over breakfast. Standing there, shoes off, toes in the cool sand, I realised how rarely we actually stop and just look at the sea. The cottage behind us already felt less like a booking and more like somewhere we could happily spend the next few days doing very little at all.