I finally made it to 63 The Waterside Holiday Park in Lowestoft, Suffolk, after a journey that started with the classic British holiday cock-up: forgetting to pack the kids' swimming costumes. Picture this – we're bombing down the A12 from Norwich, me at the wheel of our battered estate car, the wife scrolling through her phone for the sat-nav, and our two lads, aged 8 and 10, in the back turning a bag of crisps into a full-blown confetti explosion. "Dad, we've got crumbs everywhere!" one yells, while the other pretends to be a crisp monster. By the time we pulled into the park's entrance, the car looked like it'd been through a flour bomb fight. Laughable, really – nothing says 'relaxed family break' like arriving in chaos.

The sign for The Waterside Holiday Park welcomed us with that promise of waterside bliss, right on the edge of Lake Lothing, and I could already smell the faint tang of the sea mixed with cut grass. We'd booked one of those cosy lodges – number 63, to be precise – a snug two-bedroom number with a little veranda overlooking the water. Pulling up, I was chuffed; it was proper Suffolk seaside without the full-on beach madness. Lowestoft's just a stone's throw away, but here it felt tucked away, peaceful, with other holiday homes dotted around like mates at a garden party.

First impressions? Spot on for a chilled-out getaway. The lodge was compact but spotless – wooden floors that creaked just enough to feel homely, a kitchenette stocked with all the basics (kettle on immediate duty for a proper cuppa), and those big windows letting in the light off the lake. The lads bolted straight out to the veranda, whooping at the ducks paddling about like they owned the place. "Can we feed them, Dad?" Cue me rummaging for bread, only to realise we'd left half our picnic in the fridge back home. Typical. We improvised with a few biscuit crumbs, which turned into a full duck frenzy – feathers and giggles everywhere. Little lodge life chaos at its finest.

Stepping inside properly, it was all simple pleasures: the comfy sofas begging for a flop, a telly for rainy evenings (fingers crossed), and that fresh linen smell that screams 'holiday'. The park itself unfolded around us – a playground just across the way with swings and a slide that had the boys plotting world domination before we'd even unpacked. I wandered down to the water's edge, mug in hand, watching narrowboats chug by on the lake. Suffolk does this watery thing so well; it's not flashy like Cornwall, but there's a quiet magic to it. Fishermen casting lines, a heron eyeing me suspiciously – proper peaceful.

We settled in with fish finger butties for lunch (fridge raided for the essentials), and the afternoon blurred into that golden holiday haze. The wife and I snuck a moment on the veranda, feet up, listening to the lads chase each other round the playground. "This is it, innit?" she said, and I nodded, feeling a proper pang of reflection. Back home, life's a treadmill – school runs, deadlines, the lot. Here, in this unassuming little lodge, it was like hitting pause. No grand plans, just us, the water lapping, and the promise of barbecues and beach walks come morning. Sure, we'd forgotten the costumes, and my sock had somehow ended up in the toaster already, but that's the joy of it. A three-day Suffolk escape at The Waterside, faults and all, reminding you that the best breaks are the messy, real ones. Can't wait for day two.