I’ll never forget the drive to Conway – well, more precisely, the little detour that nearly turned our Welsh getaway into a comedy of errors. We’d piled into the car from Manchester, full of beans after a fry-up, with the sat-nav promising a breezy hour and a half along the A55. But no, some cheeky roadworks popped up out of nowhere, and suddenly we’re crawling behind a lorry spewing diesel fumes, arriving in Rhos-on-Sea a good half-hour late. Still, as we trundled into that peaceful residential spot just shy of a mile from the town, the sun peeked through the clouds like it was rolling out the red carpet. My heart lifted – this was going to be proper.

Up the six steps from the roadside, there it was: a lovely first-floor apartment, all shiny from a recent refurb. French doors swung open from our private patio (table and chairs included, perfect for a cuppa), straight into a lounge with a delightful gas fire begging for an evening unwind. Spacious enough for me, my other half, and our two nippers, it felt like instant home. First impressions? Spot on. We dumped the bags and cracked open a bottle of local cider, toasting the sea views that weren’t quite on the doorstep but close enough to tease.

Next morning, the weather gods were smiling – rare for North Wales, I know. Blue skies, a gentle breeze off the Irish Sea, so we laced up our boots for the headland path from Rhos straight to Colwyn Bay. It’s a cracker of a walk, maybe three miles along the promenade and up onto the cliffs, with gulls wheeling overhead and the waves crashing below. We stopped for fish and chips from a beachside van – greasy perfection wrapped in paper, eaten on the sand while the kids built lopsided castles. I felt a proper twit for stressing about the drive; this was why we’d come, that fresh coastal air filling your lungs till you’re grinning like a fool.

But oh, Britain’s weather – it’s got a wicked sense of humour. Day two dawned drizzly, turning our planned hike along the Wales Coast Path towards the Little Orme into a comedy sketch. We’d eyed up that stretch for its wildflowers and seal-spotting potential, but by noon it was sheeting down. Plan B: a shorter loop through the Bryn-y-Bont woods, puddles splashing our wellies as we dodged mud. The kids loved it, turning into mini explorers with sticks for swords, while I slipped once (gently, no harm done) and laughed till I cried. Sat in the lounge later, gas fire roaring, we reflected on how those damp days make the sunny ones sweeter. Me? I’m always the one packing too many layers, overthinking the forecast, but it’s moments like that – cosy inside, rain pattering the patio – that remind you holidays aren’t about perfection, but rolling with it.

By the end, we’d notched up hikes in all weathers: sunny strolls to Penrhyn Bay beach, blustery rambles around the headland, even a misty plod past the fairy glen in Rhos. The apartment was our rainy-day haven, but those walks? They stitched the trip together, leaving us fitter, happier, and plotting the next one already. Wales, you sneaky beauty, you’ve got me hooked.