I’ll never forget the drive over to Trearddur Bay last month – we’d packed the car to the gills with wellies, waterproofs, and enough snacks to see us through a siege, only for me to realise halfway across the bridge from Bangor that I’d left the dog’s lead dangling on the kitchen door back home. Typical me, always one step behind my own plans. A quick detour to a petrol station for a spare sorted it, and by the time we trundled into the bay, the sun was peeking through the clouds like it was personally apologising for my daftness. Spotting the designated parking space right outside made my heart lift – no faffing about with street parking in this gorgeous coastal spot.

Pulling up to our second-floor apartment, I was buzzing with that proper holiday anticipation, you know? The kind where you imagine endless beach saunters and cream teas. And blimey, first impressions didn’t disappoint. It’s this cracking little retreat smack in the heart of Trearddur Bay, dead welcoming even for our furry sidekick. We dashed up the stairs, flung open the door, and there it was: a proper well-equipped kitchen/diner that screamed “whip up a fry-up here, lads”. The sitting room beyond was pure cosiness, with a Smart TV and seating that practically hugged you into relaxation. Perfect for a family or mates looking to base themselves for some seaside shenanigans.

We’d come for the walks, Anglesey’s got some belters round here, all rugged cliffs and sandy coves within easy strolling distance. Day one, the forecast was golden, so we headed straight out for the coastal path around the bay. It’s a cracker – gentle at first, weaving past rock pools where the kids poked about for crabs, then hugging the shoreline with views out to the Ireland ferry chugging by. The sea was that crisp turquoise you only get in North Wales on a good day, and we proper powered on, laughing as the dog chased waves like a loony.

But oh, the British weather – it’s got a wicked sense of humour, doesn’t it? Next morning, we planned the loop up to Porth Dafarch, about a mile’s hike along the cliffs, with its wildflowers and hidden beaches. Blue skies again, so off we went, striding out with flasks of tea. Halfway round, the heavens opened – proper biblical stuff, wind whipping the rain sideways. We huddled under a massive golf umbrella (thankfully stashed in the car), giggling like idiots as we squelched back. Plans B, C, and D kicked in: a damp tramp back to the apartment for fish and chips from the beach takeaway, devoured round the kitchen table while the storm raged outside. Cosy as anything in that sociable diner space, drying off and plotting tomorrow.

By mid-week, we’d sussed the drill: check the sky, layer up, and embrace the chaos. A misty plod along the headland to the bay’s edge turned into a rainbow-chasing adventure when the clouds parted just right. One afternoon, even the downpour couldn’t stop us – we rugged up for a short clifftop wander, ending with hot chocolate from the local café, faces windswept and grinning. It made me pause for a sec, leaning on the sea wall: holidays like this aren’t about flawless forecasts, are they? They’re about those adaptable, soggy laughs that stick with you. We left Trearddur Bay knackered, windswept, and utterly hooked – already plotting our next wet-weather ramble.