I’ll never forget the drive to Cottage Suite 5 in North Devon – a proper faff from the off. We’d set off from Barnstaple early-ish, aiming for that classic three-day jaunt to unwind in the countryside, but of course, I took a wrong turn just past Kentisbury. Sat-nav lost its marbles on those twisty lanes, barking orders like a drill sergeant before going silent altogether. Cue me swearing at the dashboard while my other half, bless her, tried to navigate with a crumpled Ordnance Survey map. We ended up looping back on ourselves twice, finally spotting the sign for Kentisbury Grange after what felt like an eternity. By the time we pulled up, I was knackered, covered in crisp crumbs from a frantic pasty stop, and convinced the holiday was cursed before it began.

Stumbling out of the car, we were greeted by the most picture-perfect chaos – cows lowing in the next field, a light drizzle misting the air, and that unmistakable earthy whiff of Devon mud. Cottage Suite 5 sits tucked away in this gorgeous grange setting, all stone walls and thatched vibes, but with a cosy modern twist that screams “welcome, you daft urbanites”. The owner, a cheery chap called Mike, waved us over with a mug of tea in hand, chuckling at our dishevelled state. “First time here? Happens to the best of us – those lanes are a right bugger,” he said, handing over the keys without a fuss. Proper legend.

Pushing open the door, it was like stepping into a hug. The suite’s compact but clever – a snug double bed piled high with fluffy pillows, a little kitchenette gleaming with all the kit you’d need for a fry-up, and French doors spilling out onto a private patio. First impressions? Blimey, it’s spotless, with those beamed ceilings and a wood burner begging to be lit. I plonked my bag down and immediately clocked the fresh milk in the fridge and a cheeky bottle of local cider as a welcome touch. “See? Not cursed after all,” I grinned at Sarah, who was already peering out at the garden, alive with birdsong and butterflies.

We cracked on with settling in amid the arrival mayhem. I’d somehow wedged the boot shut with my rucksack during the detour drama, so there was a comedy scramble to yank it free – me tugging like a man possessed while a curious sheep eyed us from the fence. Sarah laughed so hard she nearly spilled her tea. Once unpacked, we flopped on the sofa, soaking in the quiet. Outside, the garden rolls gently towards woodland, with Exmoor’s fringes just a stone’s throw away. It’s that rare spot where you feel properly rural, yet there’s a farm shop down the lane for essentials. The light was golden by then, filtering through the trees, and I caught myself reflecting: how often do we bolt through life without pausing? That silly sat-nav cock-up had forced us to slow down, and here we were, in this gem of a cottage, first impressions smashing it.

Wandering the grounds a bit – all within a cheeky five-minute amble – we found a shared hot tub bubbling away (note to self: book that for tomorrow), and a play area that’d be ace if we’d brought the nippers. Mike popped by with eggs from his hens, bang on local and still warm. Sat on the patio as the sun dipped, sipping that cider, the mishap felt like a distant joke. Cottage Suite 5 isn’t flashy; it’s proper home-from-home magic, the sort that makes North Devon feel like your own secret. If you’re after a bolthole that turns arrival pandemonium into instant bliss, this is it. Can’t wait for day two.