I’ll never forget the drive up to Cemaes Bay – we’d packed the car to the brim with wellies, board games, and enough snacks to feed a small army, only for the sat-nav to chuck us down a narrow lane that turned into a proper comedy of errors. About five miles out, we hit a sheep traffic jam – yes, really, a flock of them blocking the road like they owned the place. Me and the missus sat there giggling as this farmer in a flat cap herded them with a sheepdog that looked like it was auditioning for a Disney film. Twenty minutes later, we were free, hearts racing a bit from the near-miss with a rogue lamb, but buzzing with that proper holiday anticipation.

Pulling into the quiet little cul-de-sac, our jaws dropped. This wonderful detached property, perched up high and thought to be the second highest house in Cemaes Bay, just screamed 'home for the week'. It’s got this modern Art Deco vibe that’s cosy without trying too hard – a super hallway sweeping you straight into a sitting room packed with squashy seating, including the best swivel cuddle armchair ever. The woodburning stove in its white brick nook was begging for a fire, and the light decor with colourful artwork, cushions, and a rug gave it bags of character. French doors out to the garden? Tick. Then you step into the open-plan kitchen-diner – grey cabinets, white granite worktop, under-counter lights glowing like a dream, and a massive breakfast bar that doubled as our dining spot. Perfect for family evenings, even if ours is just the two of us plus the dog.

First impressions? Spot on. We dumped the bags, cracked open a bottle of fizz on that bar, and just soaked it in. The chaos of cottage life kicked off straight away – I managed to spill tea on the rug within an hour, turning into a daft tea towel warrior while she laughed from the armchair. But that’s the joy of it, isn’t it? No schedules, just simple pleasures.

We wandered down to Cemaes Beach the next morning, a ten-minute stroll, toes in the sand, watching the waves crash on those red cliffs. Picked up fresh crab from the harbour shack – eaten straight from the shell with a squeeze of lemon, sat on a bench with the sea breeze whipping our hair. Pure bliss. Afternoons were for mooching around the village, grabbing pasties from the local shop, then back for stove-lit nights with telly and takeaway curry. One evening, we tried a family board game (okay, just us two pretending the dog was team three), and it descended into hilarious rows over Monopoly money – reminded me how we’ve got softer with age, trading ruthless tactics for cuddles and giggles.

A gentle walk along the coastal path to nearby Llanbadrig Point brought a moment of reflection. Sat on a bench overlooking the bay, I thought about how these little getaways recharge us – no kids yelling (yet), just us, the sea, and that swivel chair calling our name. The chaos of spilled tea and sheep jams fades, leaving the warmth of cottage life. Anglesey’s got us hooked; we’re already plotting the next trip.