I’ll never forget the drive to 27 Sea Lane in Old Hunstanton – a proper Norfolk jaunt that started with me spilling half a thermos of tea all over the passenger seat just past King’s Lynn. Laughable, really; there I was, faffing about with the satnav while my other half mopped up with a service station napkin, both of us giggling like kids. It was the perfect opener to what turned out to be three gloriously lazy days, where the biggest decision was whether to brew another cuppa or crack open a book first.

Pulling up to the cottage late afternoon on that first day felt like slipping into a warm bath after a long hike. 27 Sea Lane is one of those dog-friendly dogtwood lodges tucked into a peaceful holiday park, right on the edge of Old Hunstanton. From the gravel drive, you catch that first whiff of sea air mingling with pine from the garden – bracing, but not enough to ruffle your feathers. We unloaded the boot in no time, the kids and the spaniel bounding ahead like they’d been let loose from boarding school. Inside, it was pure cosiness: a compact open-plan living space with a wood-burning stove begging for a lazy evening fire (though we didn’t light it that first night, saving it for later dreams), squishy sofas that swallowed you whole, and a kitchen kitted out with everything from cafetière to chopping boards for the odd half-hearted sandwich.

First impressions? Blissfully unhurried. We dumped the bags and headed straight for the private patio garden – a sun-trap enclosed by neat fencing, with loungers and a table just screaming for afternoon tea. Sat there as the sun dipped low, watching the dog chase shadows across the lawn, I felt that rare twinge of self-reflection: when did life get so frantic back home? Here, with the distant crash of waves from Hunstanton beach a mere stroll away, it was like the world had hit the pause button. No grand plans, just the joy of pottering.

That evening, we ambled down to the beach – all of five minutes’ walk – for a proper gawp at the sunset over The Wash. The sand stretched out endlessly, dotted with a few hardy dog-walkers and the odd crab pot. No need for trainers; bare feet in the cool dunes sufficed. Back at the lodge, supper was simple: local crab from the Hunstanton seafood shack (picked up en route), chucked on toast with a squeeze of lemon, eaten al fresco as the sky turned inky. The kids conked out early on their bunk beds, knackered from fresh air alone, while we nursed GandTs and flicked through a dog-eared paperback from the shelf – something light and forgettable, perfect for the mood.

Day two dawned misty, the sort of Norfolk greyness that wraps you in a cosy duvet. No rush. Breakfast was leisurely porridge on the patio, rain pattering gently on the pergola overhead. We read for hours – me lost in a thriller, her with a rom-com – interrupted only by the dog’s insistent paw for walkies. A gentle loop around the park’s paths took us past neighbourly lodges and wildflower borders, close enough to glimpse the golf course but far enough for total seclusion. Lunch? Leftover crab salad, devoured without fanfare. Afternoon blurred into dozing, birdwatching from the loungers (oystercatchers piping overhead), and a cheeky nap that stretched embarrassingly long. Bloke next door waved from his mower – “Lovely day for it!” he shouted. It was, even if “it” was nowt but idling.

By evening, that first mishap with the tea seemed a lifetime ago. We lit the stove at last, its crackle the soundtrack to board games and stories. Hunstanton’s lights twinkled faintly beyond the dunes, but we stayed put, savouring the slow burn of doing bugger all. Reflecting now, it’s the smallness that sticks: the creak of the garden gate, steam rising from mugs, time stretching like toffee. 27 Sea Lane isn’t about ticking boxes; it’s a nudge to breathe, linger, and let Norfolk’s quiet magic recharge your batteries. Can’t wait to spill more tea there soon.