I finally made it to Salt Air 130 at Park Ave Holiday Village and Southbank Club after what felt like the scenic route from London, dodging a cheeky little mishap on the A299. Picture this: I'm trundling along in our battered old Volvo, kids in the back munching crisps and arguing over iPads, when I take a wrong turn near Minster – nothing dramatic, just me confidently missing the Sheerness turn-off and ending up in a queue of caravans at a level crossing. The barrier clanged down right as we approached, and there we sat, waving sheepishly at the locals in their 4x4s. "Dad's lost again," pipes up little Ollie from the back seat, and I couldn't help but chuckle. Classic family holiday start – a bit of chaos to remind you life's not all straight motorways.

By the time we rolled into the holiday village, the sun was dipping low over the Thames Estuary, painting everything in that golden Kentish glow. Park Ave Holiday Village sits right on the waterfront in Sheerness, and pulling up to Salt Air 130 felt like stumbling into a proper seaside hug. It's one of those cosy timber lodges, all pitched roof and decking, squeezed snugly into the park with sea views peeking through the dunes. We parked up on the gravel patch outside – easy peasy, no faffing with permits – and the kids bolted out, dragging suitcases like excited puppies. The front door key was waiting in the lockbox, as promised, and in we tumbled.

First impressions? Blimey, it was love at first step. The open-plan living area hit you with that instant "home away from home" vibe – squashy sofas in neutral tones, a telly bigger than our lounge one back home, and a kitchenette kitted out with everything from a toaster to a full-size oven. I clocked the Nespresso machine straight away and nearly wept with joy; after the drive, that first coffee was pure nectar. The place sleeps six comfy, with two doubles and a twin room, all crisp white duvets and those little touches like fluffy towels folded just so. Our bedroom at the back had a sneaky en-suite, and from the window, you could hear the waves lapping – not crashing dramatically, mind, but that gentle estuary rhythm that screams "relax".

We dumped the bags and headed straight out to explore the village green just a stone's throw away. It's proper old-school Kent here: families strolling with ice creams from the on-site shop, dogs chasing balls on the grass, and that faint whiff of chip fat from the club bar. Southbank Club is the heart of it all – a members' lounge with a pool table, dartboard, and a beer garden overlooking the beach. We grabbed fish and chips wrapped in paper (none of your posh plating-up malarkey) and plonked down on the decking at Salt Air as the sun set. The kids were in heaven, racing around the patio with glow sticks from the pound shop, while Sarah and I cracked open a couple of lagers, feet up on the plastic chairs. "This is it," I said, "proper lodge life."

There was a spot of light-hearted lodge chaos, of course. Unpacking revealed I'd forgotten the bog roll – rookie error – so a dash to the village shop ensued, Ollie trailing behind chanting "Daddy needs a wee!" Laughs all round. And the Wi-Fi? Spotty as a dalmatian, which was probably a blessing in disguise. Forced us to chat properly, play Uno by lamplight, and listen to the sea instead of Netflix.

Sitting there that first evening, mulling over the steam from my mug of tea, I had one of those gentle moments of reflection. Amid the kids' giggles and the soft Kent breeze rustling the marram grass, it hit me: these simple pleasures – a wonky lodge, a bag of chips, family squabbles turning to stories – they're the real magic. No grand adventures needed; just us, Salt Air, and the sea whispering "stay a bit longer." Can't wait to wake up to it all over again tomorrow.