Right, so let me tell you about our little jaunt to Mestre. We had been planning this family break for months, and I had built it up in my head as the perfect Italian idyll. The reality, as ever, began with me being a complete muppet at Venice Marco Polo Airport.

There we were, me, my wife Sarah, and the kids, fresh off the plane and ready for la dolce vita. I had insisted on hiring a car because I fancied myself as someone who could navigate Italian roads with casual flair. Within ten minutes of leaving the airport, I had managed to miss the turning for Mestre not once but twice, somehow ending up in the rental car return lane both times. The man in the booth recognised me on round two. He did not look impressed. Sarah said nothing, which was somehow worse than saying something.

When we finally found our way to the property, I was ready for a lie down. But pulling up to the place, I will admit, my mood lifted instantly. It was one of those classic Venetian Coast holiday homes, all warm terracotta walls and proper shuttered windows. The sort of place that makes you feel like you have stumbled into someone else's rather lovely life. There was a small garden out front with a few hardy plants that had clearly survived many summers of enthusiastic but clueless British watering, and a little terrace where I could already picture myself with a beer later.

The kids bolted inside before I had even turned off the engine. I followed at a slower pace, still smarting from my navigational failures. The interior was exactly what you want from this sort of cottage-style break. Nothing fancy, nothing trying too hard. Just clean, comfortable rooms with that particular Italian talent for making simple furniture look effortlessly right. The kitchen was compact but properly equipped, not one of those holiday let setups where you realise too late that there is no proper knife and you end up hacking at tomatoes with a butter knife.

I dumped our bags in the main bedroom, which had a firm bed and those excellent wooden shutters that actually keep the light out. Sarah was already inspecting the bathroom with the focused attention of someone who has been disappointed by too many holiday showers. She emerged with a nod of approval, which is basically a five-star review from her.

The kids had discovered the television and were attempting to find cartoons in Italian. I stepped outside to the terrace and finally took a proper breath. The afternoon sun was doing that golden thing it does, and somewhere nearby someone was cooking something with garlic. I could hear the faint hum of Mestre going about its business, not the tourist bustle of Venice proper but a proper working town with real people living real lives.

I thought about my earlier airport idiocy and smiled despite myself. That is the thing about family holidays, is it not? The disasters become the stories you tell afterwards. The missed turnings, the rental car man who definitely thought I was simple. None of it mattered now. We had a week ahead of us with no particular plans beyond slow mornings, wandering to local shops for bread and cheese, and letting the kids run about in a garden that was not ours to worry about.

Sarah joined me with two cups of tea she had somehow produced from our limited supplies. We sat there in comfortable silence, watching the light change. The kids were arguing amiably about something inside. A scooter puttered past in the street beyond.

I had wanted this break to be perfect, and in that moment I realised it already was, precisely because it was not. It was just us, slightly dishevelled from travel, in a lovely ordinary place, with nothing demanding our attention except each other. The Venetian Coast does that to you, I think. It slows you down whether you like it or not.

Tomorrow we would explore properly, find the nearest bakery, work out where to buy proper milk. Tonight, we would order pizza from somewhere local and eat it on that terrace with our slightly tired children, and I would try very hard not to get lost again. The bar, I suspected, was low enough for me to clear it.