As I packed for a family week away in South Devon, the temperature where I live, near to Bath, was just tipping over the thirty degrees mark. I’m not usually affected by hot weather too much, not until it gets to “Egypt in August” level of unbearable, but on this particular day my entire body revolted. Perhaps because I had so much work to do before we could leave, maybe it was because we’d committed to driving down to Devon straight after the school pickup and it was an unrealistic plan that left no time to do important tasks such as decanting dog biscuits, finding walking boots, loading the cool-box with ice packs solely so that we could take the ball of Mozzarella di Bufala that was about to expire and a quarter of a pint of milk. I don’t know. But I was mentally deranged by 1pm and by 3pm I was physically melting. My back was sweating, my underboobs were sweating, even the spaces between my fingers were sweating and spaces don’t have sweat glands.
I realise that this is something of a non-standard introduction to a piece about a luxury clifftop holiday home – “underboob” and “mentally deranged” possibly wouldn’t be in the desired SEO keywords – but it’s important to give a bit of context and lead you gradually and seamlessly towards the climatic pinnacle of this holiday review.
Because I’m going to talk about how I packed my bags when it was thirty degrees, and therefore ended up taking a suitcase of beach dresses and sandals – not a single jumper – and then I’m going to do a funny little bit about how the weather didn’t play ball. Oh, the irony! How it was greyish or it rained almost every day for the week that we were there and how on two of the days out of seven the rain was so torrential you could barely even stand out in it.
But hark at what I’m going to do next (the climatic pinnacle, as promised): I’m going to tell you that none of the grey weather mattered. The torrential rain didn’t bother us one jot. Because we were staying at Clifftop, an immense holiday house that you can book through Perfect Stays, AND THE VIEWS FROM THIS HOUSE MEANT THAT BEING INSIDE WAS EVEN BETTER THAN BEING OUT!
I’m not even exaggerating. Sitting in any of the sea-facing rooms at Clifftop (and this included two of the seven bedrooms, the main living space, the secondary top floor living space and three expansive balconies) was akin to being in an IMAX cinema watching impeccably shot footage of the south west coast. Twenty four hours a day. Floor to ceiling windows framing the rolling waves, the formidable cliffs, the breathtaking sunset. It just never got boring.
(Admittedly if you actually went to an IMAX theatre to watch that, it would probably get tiresome after approximately four minutes, but when it’s real life? And you really are perched up there on a cliff top, sitting in your rocking chair and listening to the waves crash below you? It was priceless. Soul-soothing.)
I could just bang on about the view for the entire time and I actually think I’d be completely justified: I love a good view, I bought my house because of the views (partly – the oil baron’s ski lodge vibe and seventies split-level lounge had a play in it, too) and I am a big appreciator of views in general. In particular a well-framed view. Ooph. Give me a perfectly cropped-in view of something – a forest, a cliff, even just a nice tree or a section of sky – and it doesn’t even matter how small the window is. I will nod in satisfaction that the little slice of world has been perfectly captured. Living, breathing, moving art.
Anyway, there was more to Clifftop than the view. For a start, it was huge and beautifully finished. Seven bedrooms, six (and a half) bathrooms, two huge living spaces and extra bits and pieces like a ping pong table room, a snug, a separate kitchenette on the top floor (best views in the house) and a whole office in a cupboard. Fourteen people did not feel a squash and a squeeze, it felt entirely comfortable and luxurious. Two of the bedrooms were on the very bottom floor and looked out to sea and made it feel very much as though you were on a cruise ship, without any of the associated disadvantages. (Namely: being trapped on a cruise ship, being on a ship at all for longer than eight hours, being on any ship when you have watched both Titanic and the more contemporary boat “horror film”, Triangle of Sadness.)
Each floor had a balcony and the design very cleverly put four people on the top floor and eight on the bottom floor with the main living space sandwiched in between. (You’re correct if you’ve spotted two people missing: there’s an extra bedroom on that main living floor.) The top floor had its own lounge area, dining space and kitchenette of very generous proportions, meaning that you could live as a family reasonably separately for a week on the top floor if you fancied your own space. And still fit another two or three families in downstairs!
What a jape.
So long as you love going away as big groups, of course. And this was a house with big groups thoroughly catered for, with all of the practicalities and logistics thought through. Space for three cars (electric charging point, bonus), kitchen work surfaces for at least five adults simultaneously catering for their offspring, frantically chopping and arranging as though they are chefs at The Ritz. One child having cream cheese on triangular pieces of bagel with a sprinkling of chives, another requesting sausages cut lengthways, “like alien fingers”, a toddler needing cheese for a baked potato but only grated on the finest setting…
Ding ding! Service please!
But oh, that view. Ever-present and just there, like this big wall of crashing blues and greys and greens. It was hard to feel anything but grateful, to be unfashionably frank. It stopped you in your tracks multiple times an hour and never got old – I know I said I wouldn’t bang on about it but it really was remarkable and special.
As was the utility room. Remarkable and special. Now look: this utility wasn’t special because it had DeVol units or a pantry with herb racks or a place to arrange flowers or whatever things are currently trending: this utility was special because it had been so meticulously thought out, so comprehensively planned, that it was difficult to fault it. In a way, it was the engine room to the house: all of the workings could go on there, behind the scenes, and the rest of the house could amble along beautifully without any of the sand and mess and smell that normally ends up sabotaging a big group holiday.
You could access the utility room from outside and come straight into it from the beach, via an outdoor shower (hot! incredible view!) and a series of hooks and drying pegs and storage areas for the various swimsuits and towels and beach toys and body boards. All mess: left at the door. Inside, another shower, a huge sink for washing dogs (at least I hope that was what it was for) and more pegs and rails and shelves. And do you know what? A house sleeping fourteen needs these things! All of them! But so many places don’t have them. They are crucial, these unsexy, practical areas. Otherwise the house gets dirty and the house – in time – gets wrecked. Not a problem here; so much space for dogs and sandy kids and various doors and partitions you can shut and the whole place completely rinsable…
The other utility door went out onto steps that lead down to a small clifftop garden containing large hot tub (with aforementioned view, have I already mentioned the view, I can’t quite remember?) and – surprise, niche treat – a sauna.
At the risk of turning this piece into a drinking game (“have a shot every time she says view!”) the sauna was tucked away right at the edge of the plot and had little windows facing out over Challaborough Bay. I almost cooked my internal organs sitting in there a bit too long because I became enraptured with the surfers paddling about, biding their time, and the people on the beach, running in and out of the water. What a place to feel your own nostril hairs self combust!
So let’s recap: huge house. Beautifully designed (I think the renovation must be relatively new and the attention to detail and quality of finish did not go unnoticed) and generously kitted out, with more than enough towels and about eighteen pillows and cushions per person. Incredibly situated, with an easy amble down to Burgh Island (what a magical little set-up that is) or to Challaborough and shortish drives to Kingsbridge and Salcombe; you really could spend each and every day on the beach.
Not one of the group of thirteen could think of a bad thing to say. I mean, one person can’t actually talk yet so that was him out, but the rest of them? Compliments all round. There are a lot of stairs and steps (the house is over three levels) so that’s a consideration, but we loved that not all of the bedrooms were on one level. It would have been absolute mayhem.
Prices for Clifftop start at £2950 for a week off-season (and actually, end of September is £3350 for a week, which is still usually fairish weather) and when you divide it by fourteen and work out prices per head… Well. For the level of sheer luxury, and that view (sorry!) I’m not sure you could top it.
You can find out more on Clifftop (with better, more helpful photos) at Perfect Stays here. I have a full house tour on video, click here or press play on the video screen below.
