I’ll never forget the drive up to Conway from Manchester – it was meant to be a straightforward hour and a half, but no, I decided to take a cheeky shortcut via some back lanes near Llandudno Junction. Big mistake. Ended up stuck behind a flock of sheep being herded across the road, with the farmer giving me a proper Welsh wave as if to say, “Patience, lad!” By the time we arrived, the sun was dipping low, but oh, what a sight. Pulling into that quiet cul-de-sac in Rhos-on-Sea, less than a mile from the village, I could already smell the sea air and feel the anticipation bubbling up. This ground floor apartment in the owners’ detached home looked perfect – spacious, homely, and just begging for us to kick off our shoes.

First impressions? Spot on. We dumped the bags in the cosy sitting room, with its warming flame-effect gas fire flickering away like a proper welcome, and that large flat-screen TV screaming “movie night later.” The dining area was right there for a quick unpack-and-plan session, and the kitchen’s central island became instant HQ for brewing up a cuppa while gazing out at the garden. Ground floor bliss for us lot with kids in tow – no stairs to negotiate after a long day out. It felt like stepping into someone’s favourite auntie’s house, all comfortable and lived-in without being fussy.

We’d come for walks, proper coastal hikes along that stunning North Wales shoreline, and the weather was playing ball at first. Day one, blue skies, so we headed straight out to Rhos-on-Sea promenade – a gentle two-mile stroll along the prom, past the promenade café where I grabbed a bacon butty that hit the spot. The sea was glittering, gulls wheeling overhead, and we pushed on towards Colwyn Bay, dodging ice cream vans and laughing at the kids trying to skim stones further than Dad (spoiler: they won). That evening, back at the apartment, we thawed out by the fire, dishing up fish and chips at the dining table, plotting tomorrow’s bigger adventure.

But this is Wales, innit? British weather’s got a mind of its own. Next morning, we woke to lashing rain – proper horizontal stuff that turned our planned hike up the Great Orme into a non-starter. “Bugger that,” I muttered, peering out the kitchen window over coffee. Quick pivot: we layered up and did the Wales Coast Path section right from the doorstep instead. It’s brilliant that path – winds along cliffs and dunes, maybe three miles out and back, with views over Conway Bay that make you forget the downpour. Muddy trainers everywhere, but we spotted seals bobbing about and even a rainbow peeking through. Lunch was huddled in a beach shelter, sharing soggy sandwiches and thermos tea, feeling alive in that fresh, blustery way.

By day three, the sun was back, so we tackled the wooded paths behind Rhos-on-Sea, up towards the headland trails – nothing too strenuous, about four miles of ups and downs through Bryn-y-Bia woods, with wildflowers nodding in the breeze and the sea crashing below. The weather flipped again mid-afternoon, mist rolling in like a dramatic finale, forcing us into a café in the village for hot chocolate and fairy cakes. Laughing about it now, but there was a quiet moment on that last walk, sat on a bench overlooking the bay, rain pattering softly. Made me reflect – holidays like this aren’t about perfect plans; they’re about rolling with the squalls, getting soaked together, and coming home with stories that stick. That apartment was the ideal base for it all – cosy returns, full bellies, and zero fuss. Can’t wait to go back.