I finally made it to St Ives after a bit of a faff on the A30 – nothing major, just me spilling half a thermos of tea all over the passenger seat about 20 minutes from the turning for Azure Retreat at Una. Typical me, innit? Arms flailing like a windmill, swearing under my breath while trying not to veer into the hedges. By the time I pulled up to the cottage, I was parched, sticky, and starving, but the sight of that cosy stone-fronted beauty tucked into Una's quiet lanes cheered me right up. First impressions? Pure magic. It's one of those proper St Ives hideaways – whitewashed walls, a cheeky little garden bursting with hydrangeas, and that fresh sea air hitting you like a welcome slap. I dumped my bags, cracked open a window, and thought, yeah, this is where I'm basing my three-day feast fest.

Straight off, I legged it down to the harbour for first dibs on the day's catch. St Ives is legendary for its seafood, and arriving mid-morning meant the boats were just unloading. I nabbed a couple of plump mackerel and some glistening prawns from the fishmongers right by the Lifeboat Station – fresh as you like, still twitching if you squinted. Back at Azure Retreat, the kitchen was a dream for a rummage like me: proper Aga vibes, well-stocked cupboards, and a hob that didn't fight back. I fired up a simple pan-fry – mackerel grilled with a squeeze of lemon from the garden (pinched a bit, shh), prawns sizzling in garlic butter. The cottage's dining nook overlooks the lane, so I scoffed it with a pint of Proper Job from a can, windows flung wide to catch the gull cries. Bloody delicious, though I did burn the edges a tad – self-taught chef's privilege.

Pub crawling was next on the agenda, and St Ives doesn't disappoint. First stop: The Sloop Inn, a five-minute wander from the cottage. It's that classic harbourside boozer with beams low enough to brain the unwary (nearly got me). I plonked down for a ploughman's – mature cheddar chunkier than my ex's ego, pickled onions that zinged, and doorstep bread slathered in Branston. Paired with a crisp Tribute ale, it was pub perfection. Chatted with locals about the best crab spots; one bloke swore by the beach shacks near Porthmeor. Light-hearted ribbing ensued when I admitted my tea-spilling saga – "Proper tourist tax, that!" he laughed. I reflected there over my second pint: life's too short for spills and grudges; sometimes you just need a decent cheeseboard to set you straight.

Evening called for the hubbub of St Ives' food market scene. Nipped to the Fore Street stalls – proper local affair with stalls heaving under pasties, saffron buns from the bakery, and stalls of Cornish cheeses that'd make a vegan waver. Grabbed a pasty the size of my forearm (steak and stilton, oozing glory) and some clotted cream fudge for pud. Back at the retreat, I attempted a proper Cornish supper: split the pasty, warmed it on the hob, dolloped on cream (why not?), and cracked open a bottle of Rattler. The cottage's lounge, with its squishy sofa and wood burner (unlit, but primed), was the ideal den. Ate till I could burst, chuckling at my earlier kitchen heroics – who'd have thought a city lad like me could rustle up seafood without poisoning himself?

Day two dawned with brekkie dreams. Azure Retreat's got this sun-trap patio, so I brewed tea (carefully, no spills) and fried eggs with market bacon from the day before. Wandered to The Balancing Jug for elevenses – hidden gem just up the hill, famed for its chip butties and real ales. Mine came with mushy peas and a side of banter from the barmaid. Lunch was a picnic pilfer: cheese from the market, a hunk of focaccia, and crab claws cracked open with glee on the cottage steps. Pub encore at The Lifeboat Inn – fish pie that flaked like heaven, washed down with Doom Bar. My cooking encore? A dodgy attempt at scouse (Cornish twist with local spuds), but the retreat's forgiving oven saved it. Laughing at my wonky knife skills, I pondered how these simple meals, amid the salt spray and chatter, remind you that joy's in the basics – no Instagram needed.

By evening, stuffed and smug, Azure Retreat felt like home. First impressions sealed: if St Ives is about the eats, this cottage is the perfect plate. Can't wait to return for more.