I’ll never forget the drive up to Conway – or rather, the near-disaster that kicked off our holiday. We’d piled into the car in Manchester, kids buzzing with excitement about the seaside, me navigating via a dodgy phone signal that kept dropping us into fields instead of the A55. Then, just past Colwyn Bay, disaster struck: a rogue seagull dive-bombed the windscreen, splattering it with what looked like a full English breakfast. Cue screeching brakes, hysterical laughter from the back seat, and me wiping guano off the glass with a McDonald’s napkin while swearing under my breath (quietly, mind). By the time we rolled into Llandudno, we were late, frazzled, and starving.

But oh, pulling up to the apartment? Instant mood-lifter. Tucked right in the heart of things, with that classic Victorian promenade vibe humming just outside, it felt like we’d stumbled into a proper gem. We’d been anticipating this bit all journey – imagining cosy digs after the chaos – and it didn’t disappoint. Two bedrooms, perfect for our family of four, with everything spot-on: comfy beds, a telly for rainy evenings, and – bless it – full Wi-Fi so I could spam pics of our arrival mayhem to the grandparents back home before we’d even unpacked.

First impressions? Bloody brilliant (well, almost). We tumbled in, bags everywhere, kids claiming rooms like it was a gold rush. The place had this airy, lived-in charm – big windows flooding it with that crisp North Wales light, a neat little kitchenette stocked for brekkie, and a lounge where you could flop and gaze out at the seafront. No faffing about with check-in queues; the key safe was a godsend after our road rage saga. We cracked open the windows to the sound of waves and gulls (ironic, that), and within minutes, flip-flops were on for a stomp along the prom.

That first afternoon set the tone. We wandered to the pier, just a stone’s throw away, munching chips slathered in vinegar while the kids rode the donkeys – pure Llandudno magic. Later, a gentle mooch up to the Great Orme in the tramway car, puffing up those hills with views that made the drive’s drama fade like yesterday’s news. I caught myself reflecting, mid-fish-and-chips sunset, how these little self-inflicted hiccups – the bird poo, the sat-nav fail – make the good bits shine brighter. Who needs smooth sailing when you’ve got sea air and a cracking holiday flat to crash in?

Evenings were bliss: cooking up pasta in the well-kitted kitchen, streaming a film with the promenade lights twinkling outside. No airs and graces, just easy comfort. If you’re eyeing a Conway getaway, hunt down a spot like this – central, sorted, and ready for whatever chaos you bring. Ours was a belter, mishaps and all. Can’t wait to go back.