A visit to the quintessential Cornish town of Fowey combines a luxury apartment with traditional seaside fun.

A drink? Well, why not!’ says my husband, Rufus, happily taking the proffered beer. The kids, Seth and Martha, help themselves to colas, and I sip a glass of chilled rosé as we chug away from a jetty at Fowey Harbour. We are with our glamorous, generous hosts for the weekend, Alison and Henry, who have invited us to spend an hour with them sailing down the river. It couldn’t be lovelier. As we slowly make our way down the estuary, the couple points out places of interest, including Ferryside, Daphne du Maurier’s white and blue house, where she wrote her first novel. We’re not the only ones enjoying the water – the sun is shining, the water calm, and the river is populated by couples and families in sunglasses, shirts and sun dresses; cashmere jumpers slung over shoulders and picnic baskets at the ready. Alison and Henry drop us off outside Captain Hank’s Crab and Snack Shack on the harbour, where we order seafood poutine – skin-on fries with a shellfish reduction, Cornish Gouda, and parsley and lemon zest. It’s as delicious as it sounds. Then we wander the short distance back to our apartment, passing artisan bakers, craft shops selling one-off finds, pubs with nautical names, and galleries. Our home for the weekend is the superb Marners Rock No 3, one of three luxury apartments owned (and renovated) by Alison and Henry; think exquisite interiors, artwork and a really welcoming feel.

There are three bedrooms, two bathrooms and a stunning open-plan kitchen and living room – plus a large proffered balcony that overlooks the estuary. Oh, and did I mention – it’s dog-friendly, too. We shower, sip G&Ts on the balcony (included in the generous welcome package), then head out to dinner at beloved local restaurant Appleton’s, which serves a Mediterranean-inspired Cornish menu. Seth chooses a Cos-no-politan mocktail and squid ink linguine; Martha opts for a delicious saffron mafaldine pasta with lobster; Rufus has the flat iron steak with prawns, and I tuck in to olive-oil-poached cod. On the way home, a clap of thunder disturbs the evening air – and once we’re home, we sit out on the balcony watching fork lightning dance over the harbour. 

Eventually, we drag ourselves away to sleep in the comfiest of beds. In the morning, I watch the sun rise over the estuary, then we potter down to the picture-perfect local beach, Readymoney Cove. We swim, dry off on the rocks and throw sticks for Maggie the dog. Properly hungry, we decide it’s time for Cornish pasties and ice creams, and sit on the harbour edge to eat them. I’m flooded with memories of childhood holidays, and enjoy the taste of salt in the air and the lap of waves against stone walls. However high-end the holiday, it’s lovely to know you can still have that authentic Cornish experience, sitting on the jetty, eating pasties from paper bags, and batting away the cawing seagulls.