the beach hut
and the last chance for a final fling
Back in 2011 we booked The Beach Hut for its isolation, romance, and peace and quiet. I was three months pregnant with our third child, which meant this trip felt less like a holiday and more like a strategic retreat. Possibly our last opportunity to be alone together before the nappies and nights of broken sleep began once more.
We left the car at the farm, walked through a few fields, descended towards the sea, and felt quietly smug about how well we planned this getaway, we even stopped at M&S at Exeter Services for some posh picky bits.
No phone signal, no neighbours, just cliffs, water, and the faint hope of relaxation and a good nights sleep.
The hut itself is small and perfectly formed. Minimal. Tasteful. There’s a ladder up to the bed, large windows overlooking the sea, and just enough space to lie around feeling reflective and occasionally hungry.
We were convinced we’d nailed it. A good friend looked after the boys for us (on top of three of her own - a saint). I had a sense of foreboding that this would be our last getaway EVER, it had to be perfect.
The following morning, there was a knock at the door.
It was the owner, cheerfully apologising and explaining he thought he might have left some fishing gear in one of the cupboards. Which he had. We stood there smiling politely, attempting to look relaxed in our swimwear (thank goodness we weren’t skinny dipping!) while internally adjusting from remote, private escape to unexpected man retrieving equipment. He was perfectly pleasant. It was entirely reasonable. He thanked us and asked us not to tell his wife, for fear of reprisal.
Still, we moved on, having two older children, we were well versed with interruptions.
Later that day, we noticed a small boat hovering offshore. Harmless enough. Boats exist. To our horror someone jumped out and began swimming towards the beach. Our beach. The private one. They emerged from the water and had a gentle wander around, just “having a look!”
Again, thank goodness we weren’t skinny dipping!
At this point, we accepted that our stay wasn’t quite as expected and had turned into quite a comical situation with us wondering who would turn up next. But despite the interruptions, and my ongoing pregnancy-related nausea and need to eat every forty minutes, the hut was perfect and the weather was hot.
The hot tub at sunset helped enormously. Sitting there watching the light fade, listening to the waves, we felt ourselves finally slow down. No one else arrived. No one asked for anything. A win and a sky full of stars.
Falling asleep to the sound of the sea felt reassuring, it felt as if it was lapping at the toes of the hut. The wood burner kept us warm in our bunk and we managed to forget about the real world for just a little while.
By the time we left, it was clear this hadn’t been the flawlessly romantic escape I’d imagined. It was better, in a more realistic way. Slightly awkward. Mildly interrupted. Entirely honest.
By the time we crawled back up the M5, normal service had resumed!
