I finally made it to Ocean Breeze Villa 3 in Woolacombe after a bit of a faff on the drive down from Bristol. Picture this: I'm trundling along the A39, past those rolling North Devon hills, with the doggo, Rufus, snoring in the back, when I realise I've left the cool bag with all my posh picnic cheeses back at a service station. Proper numpty moment—panic-buying a dodgy block of cheddar at the next petrol station instead. Still, it set the tone for a cracking three-day escape focused on nothing but scoffing, supping, and a splash in the hot tub.

Pulling up to the villa just after lunch on that first Friday, I was starving. The place is tucked away in a quiet spot near Mortehoe, with sea views peeking through the dunes—proper idyllic. Rufus bounded out, tail wagging like mad, straight into the pet-friendly garden. First impressions? Spot on. It's a cosy semi-detached number, all whitewashed walls and nautical vibes, with a private hot tub bubbling away on the patio like it was waiting for me. I dumped the bags and legged it to the nearest spot for food: Sanders Fish and Chips on Woolacombe's high street, barely a five-minute drive. Blimey, those battered haddock and chips hit the spot—crisp, flaky, with mushy peas that were proper lush, not that tinned rubbish. Sat on a bench overlooking the beach, wolfing it down with a cheeky can of ginger beer, wind whipping my hair. Rufus got a sneaky bit of fish skin, don't tell the vet.

Back at the villa, I unpacked the shopping from Mortehoe's little village shop—nothing fancy, but they had fresh pasties, local clotted cream, and strawberries plump as you like from nearby farms. My grand plan was to channel my inner Jamie Oliver for dinner. The kitchen's kitted out nicely, with all the gadgets, so I rustled up a Devon-style cream tea gone wrong. Slathered scones with jam and cream (got the order right this time, unlike my last attempt), paired with a pasty I'd warmed up. It was a right mess—scone crumbs everywhere, and I slathered on too much cream, turning it into a sloppy pudding. Laughed my head off at myself in the mirror, cream on my nose like a clown. Gentle nudge there: holidays like this remind you it's okay to cock up cooking sometimes; life's too short for perfect Instagram plates.

As the sun dipped, I fired up the hot tub—pure bliss after the drive. Sipped a tin of local Devon cider from the offy, watching Rufus chase his tail on the grass. Hunger struck again by 7pm, so off to The Woolacombe Bay pub, a stone's throw away. Proper proper North Devon boozer: low beams, roaring fire (even in summer), and the specials board groaning with fresh seafood. I went for the moules marinières—plump mussels in garlic cream, mopped up with crusty bread—followed by a pint of Exmoor Ale that slid down a treat. Chatted with locals about the best beaches (Woolacombe's a belter, apparently), all while Rufus snoozed under the table. First night sorted.

Saturday morning kicked off with brekkie experiments in the villa. Nipped to the Woolacombe beach café for bacon sarnies—thick-cut rashers, proper fried eggs oozing yolk—grabbed to eat back on the patio. The hot tub called again mid-morning, steaming away with coffee in hand, steam rising like a foggy Devon morning. Lunch was a picnic mishap redemption: local sausages from the Mortehoe farm shop, grilled on the villa's barbie with a side of new potatoes and a dollop of mustard. Burnt the first batch, naturally—self-roast incoming—but the second lot were golden. Paired with a cheeky bottle of Cornish rosé from the Co-op.

Evening? Back to The Shipmate at Morte Point, a gem within easy walking distance. Their fish pie was legendary—creamy, packed with cod and prawns, topped with mash that crunched just right. Puddings were calling: sticky toffee with custard, because why not? Hot tub soak number three, full belly and all, stars twinkling over the sea. That first full day was all about these local eats driving the holiday vibe—pubs heaving with fresh grub, markets and shops stocked with Devon bounty.

By Sunday checkout, I'd nailed the rhythm: food, tub, repeat. Ocean Breeze Villa 3 nailed those first impressions—pet heaven, hot tub hero, and a stone's throw from North Devon's top scoff spots. Can't wait to return for more culinary chaos.