I’ll never forget the drive up to Conway – or rather, the bit just outside it. We’d piled the kids into the car at some ungodly hour from Manchester, full of that buzzing holiday anticipation, you know? Sandwiches packed, playlist sorted with all the kids’ favourites (why do they always pick the same Frozen songs on repeat?), and me dreaming of lazy beach days. But then, halfway through the A55, disaster struck: a massive lorry decided to have a lie-down across the road, turning our smooth three-hour jaunt into a four-and-a-half-hour crawl. The little ones were whining, hubby was gripping the wheel like it owed him money, and I was mainlining crisps to stay sane. Still, by the time we rolled into Llandudno, that frustration melted away. The sea sparkled like it was personally welcoming us, and the promise of our second-floor apartment right in the thick of it all felt like a hug.

Pulling up, we were gobsmacked – it was this cracking seaside spot, perfect for a family dip into coastal chaos. Stylish but cosy, with an open-plan living area that screamed “kick back and relax”. The kitchen had everything: electric oven and hob for knocking up fish fingers or a half-decent spag bol when the troops demanded it. Dining table right there for those messy family feasts, and it was all just steps from Llandudno’s buzz without feeling overwhelmed.

First impressions? Spot on. We dumped the bags and legged it straight to the pier – classic move. The kids went feral on the 2p machines, winning a grand total of three bouncy balls that they lost by bedtime. We scoffed chips wrapped in newspaper, the vinegar stinging our chips in that proper British way, while seagulls dive-bombed for scraps. Laughter all round, even when one cheeky bird nicked my youngest’s ice cream. Pure joy.

Next morning, we wandered the promenade, paddling in the chilly Irish Sea – brr, but the kids didn’t care, splashing about like otters. Popped into town for pasties from a bakery that smelled like heaven, then a gentle stroll along the West Shore beach, building lopsided sandcastles that the tide claimed in minutes. Afternoon was cottage life at its finest: back at the flat, hubby wrestled with a picnic spread while I refereed a pillow fight. Chaos, but the good kind – you know, the sort that makes you forget emails and deadlines.

One evening, we ambled to a nearby café for fish and chips, watching the sun dip behind the Great Orme. That’s when I had a proper moment, sitting there with sand in my socks and ketchup on my chin, thinking: this is it, isn’t it? Amid the joyful mayhem of family holidays – the squabbles, the spills, the endless “Muuuum!” – it’s these simple bits that recharge the soul. No grand adventures needed, just us, the sea, and a bit of seaside madness.

We hated leaving after a week of it. If you’re after a relaxed family break in Conway, hunt down a spot like this – it’s pure magic.