I’ll never forget the drive down to Ilfracombe for my three-day jaunt to the Driftwood Premier Sea View Cabin – a right old faff it was, too. I’d set off from Bristol nice and early, fancying a leisurely cruise along the A39 with the radio on, but no, some numpty in a white van decided to clip my wing mirror just past Minehead. Nothing major, just a cheeky scrape that had me muttering under my breath and pulling over at a layby to check the damage. “Typical,” I thought, taping it back with a bit of gaffer from the glovebox. Still, by the time I trundled into Devon proper, the sun was glinting off the sea, and the mishap felt like yesterday’s news.

Pulling up to the cabin in the late afternoon, I was gobsmacked. Perched on the hillside with those massive sea views stretching out to the Bristol Channel, it looked like something out of a postcard – all cosy timber and glass, promising lazy evenings watching the waves crash below. But it was the locals who turned my arrival into proper gold. First off, there was Barry, the chap from the rental office round the corner. He rocked up in a battered Land Rover, flat cap perched at a jaunty angle, to hand over the keys. “Alright, mate? You picked a cracker here,” he grinned, eyeing my scraped mirror. “Don’t worry, happens to the best of us. Last week I reversed into a cow – proper dent!” We had a right chuckle about that, him regaling me with tales of Ilfracombe’s cheeky livestock wandering the lanes. Barry’s the sort who’s lived here all his life, knows every nook from the Tunnels Beaches to the crazy golf down by the pier. “Cabin’s got the best view in North Devon, bar none,” he winked. “Just mind the seagulls – they’re worse thieves than the tourists.”

No sooner had Barry scarpered than I met Doris, the neighbour from the cabin next door. She was out front in her wellies, tending a riot of hydrangeas that somehow thrive in this salty wind. “New here, are ya?” she called, peering over her specs. Must’ve been pushing 80, but sharp as a tack. I confessed it was my first time at Driftwood, and she launched into a monologue about the spot’s history. “Built these cabins back in the ’70s for holidaymakers escaping the smoke,” she said, thrusting a cuppa into my hand. “My Bert used to fish right off that balcony – cod as big as your arm!” We nattered for ages about the old days: the donkeys on the beach, the Victorian bathing machines still rusting nearby, and how the sea mist rolls in like clockwork at dusk. Doris had that dry Devon wit, too – when I joked about my mirror mishap, she cackled, “Serves ya right for driving a fancy car. Stick to a bike next time, love!”

As the sun dipped, I wandered down to the nearby cove – just a five-minute stroll, past gorse bushes buzzing with bees – and bumped into Madge and Reg, a retired couple from the village pub. They were poking at rock pools with nets, hunting for crabs. “Join us, lad!” Reg bellowed, his face like weathered oak from years at sea. Madge, with her peroxide curls and endless supply of biscuits from her handbag, pulled me into their world. “This cabin of yours? Prime spot for spotting seals,” she confided. “Saw a pod last week, frolicking like it was Blackpool.” We spent the next hour swapping yarns – Reg on smuggling tales from the old coastguard days (mostly exaggerated, I reckon), Madge on the best chippy in town (Captain Jack’s, apparently unbeatable). Their banter was pure gold: him teasing her about her “fancy” crab bait (sardines from Tesco), her firing back about his fishing prowess (“More bait lost than fish caught!”).

Settling into the cabin that first evening, mug of tea in hand, gazing out at the lighthouse twinkling on the horizon, I couldn’t help a quiet moment of reflection. Amid the laughter and local lore, it hit me – these quirky characters, with their stories etched into every wave and cliff, make places like this come alive. Not the views (stunning as they are), but the people. Barry’s optimism, Doris’s cuppas, Madge and Reg’s endless patter – they turned a simple arrival into something properly memorable. Here’s to more Devon chats on day two.