We’d been on the road for hours when the satnav cheerfully announced we were nearly there, which of course was the exact moment the heavens opened over Anglesey. The wipers were doing their best impression of a couple of tired arms waving goodbye, and I was just congratulating myself on not missing the turning when a rogue pothole sent a celebratory arc of muddy water straight across the windscreen. By the time we pulled up outside Farmyard House the car looked as though it had been rolled through a farmyard twice, which felt fitting given the name.

The cottage itself sat just far enough back from the lane to feel private, yet close enough that we could already hear the soft hush of waves on the nearby beach. Rain still dripped from the guttering as we fumbled with the key safe, but the moment the door swung open the smell of woodsmoke and fresh bread greeted us like an old friend who’d been expecting us all along. Inside, the rooms were simple and welcoming, with just enough modern touches to make unpacking feel less like a chore and more like settling in.

We abandoned the suitcases where they landed and wandered straight back outside, shoes already damp from the grass. The garden sloped gently toward a low stone wall, and beyond it the sea stretched out in that particular shade of slate-grey that only the Welsh coast seems to manage. Even in the drizzle it looked inviting, and I found myself wondering why we’d bothered packing walking boots when flip-flops might have done just as well.

A neighbour’s dog barked once, then seemed to think better of it, and the only other sound was the distant clink of rigging from a few small boats tucked into the cove. Standing there, still slightly damp and definitely overdue a cup of tea, I realised the journey hadn’t actually been that long at all; it was simply the sort of drive that stretches when you’re desperate to arrive. Farmyard House had already done its job: made us feel as though we’d crossed an invisible line between “getting there” and “being here,” and all it had taken was one rogue puddle and the promise of a warm kitchen.