I finally made it to Ocean Tide Villa 2 in Woolacombe after a bit of a faff on the drive down from Bristol. Picture this: I'm bombing along the A39, past those rolling Devon hills, when I realise I've left my posh coffee thermos at a services. No biggie, I thought, but then I spill half a Pret latte down my shirt trying to juggle it one-handed. Arrived looking like I'd been in a milkshake fight, but hey, that's me – eternal optimist with zero coordination.

Pulling up to the villa just as the sun dipped towards the Atlantic, I was gobsmacked. Perched on those golden Woolacombe sands, it's got this cracking sea view from every window, waves crashing like they're putting on a private show. Unlocked the door with that fancy key code, dumped my bags, and the first thing that hit me was the kitchen – proper chef's paradise, with a massive range cooker, all gleaming worktops, and a fridge begging to be filled. No time to waste; I legged it to the nearest Co-op, five minutes down the road, for supplies. Grabbed local pasties from the bakery counter – proper Cornish jobbies, flaky pastry stuffed with steak and spuds – and some Devon cider from the offy next door.

First evening, I cracked on with a solo feast. Chucked some fresh mackerel (snagged from the fishmonger stand outside the shop, straight off the boats that morning) under the grill, slathered in butter and herbs. Sides? Crispy new potatoes roasted with rosemary from a punnet, and a rocket salad with cheddar chunks – that crumbly, tangy stuff from the local dairy section. Paired it with a chilled bottle of Sandford Orchards cider, fizzing away like it was celebrating my arrival. Sat at the big oak table overlooking the beach, sunset turning the sea all pink and orange. Bloody marvellous. Laughed to myself when I nearly set off the smoke alarm – my cooking attempts are legendary for their smoke signals.

Next morning, woke to the sound of gulls and that salty breeze sneaking through the balcony doors. Stumbled into the kitchen for brekkie, frying up bacon rashers and eggs from the farm stall eggs in the Co-op. Proper free-range, yolks like sunshine. Buttered some granary toast thickly and scoffed it on the terrace, feet up, watching surfers paddle out. Felt a proper moment of reflection there – life's mad rush back home, deadlines piling up like unwashed pots, but here I was, grease on my chin, no emails pinging. Made me think: why don't I do this more often? Simple joys, innit?

Midday hunger hit, so wandered to The Woolacombe Bay Café, just a stone's throw along the beach. Grabbed a table outside, ordered their seafood chowder – thick, creamy, packed with chunks of cod, prawns, and mussels, with crusty bread to mop it up. Followed by a massive crab sandwich, claws picked fresh that day. Chatted with the waitress about the best spots for crab fishing; she's lived here donkey's years, reckons the tide pools nearby are goldmines at low tide. Washed it down with a pint of Otter Ale – smooth, malty, proper Devon brew. Light-headed from the sea air and that second pint, I chuckled remembering my latte disaster; who'd have thought spilled coffee would lead to crab heaven?

Afternoon tea? Sorted. Back at the villa, attempted sconces – grabbed cream and jam from the village shop en route. Mine came out more like rock buns, but slathered in clotted cream from Rodda's (the Co-op had a whole shelf), they were divine. Devoured them with strawberries from a roadside honesty box I spotted on the way in – tuppence each, fresh as.

Evening called for pub grub. Strolled to The Red Barn, not even a mile away, all cosy with log fires and beams. Fish and chips done right: batter crisp as autumn leaves, haddock flaking perfectly, mushy peas on the side, and a jug of proper vinegar. Tartar sauce homemade, chunky with gherkins. Another pint of Jail Ale, chatting with locals about the tide times for beach foraging. Walked back stuffed, belly happy, the villa's lights welcoming like an old mate.

That first 24 hours at Ocean Tide Villa 2? Pure foodie bliss, all wrapped in sea views and mishap-induced laughs. Can't wait to fill that fridge again tomorrow.