I’ll never forget the drive up to Conway from Manchester – it was one of those classic British road trips where everything’s going swimmingly until it isn’t. We’d piled into the car with the dog, snacks, and a playlist of cheesy 90s hits, buzzing with that holiday anticipation, imagining lazy beach walks and cracking sunsets. But halfway there, just past Colwyn Bay, the heavens opened, and we hit a massive tailback from some roadworks. Sat there for an hour, engine idling, with the kids in the back moaning about hunger. “Dad, are we there yet?” every five minutes. Still, it made the arrival all the sweeter – pulling up to this cracking detached holiday home right by the beach in Llanddulas felt like striking gold. Off-road parking was a godsend after the chaos, and the place just screamed cosy coastal retreat, perfect for us lot with our well-behaved spaniel in tow.

First impressions? Spot on. Ground floor had this massive king bedroom with its own en-suite – pure luxury after the car saga. Upstairs, three more big bedrooms, all with en-suites, plus a handy cloakroom and a utility room kitted out with washer and dryer. Ideal for a family getaway where sand and wet towels are inevitable. We dumped the bags and headed straight for the kitchen – it was huge, begging for some proper holiday cooking experiments.

Food became our mission from the off. First night, I fancied playing masterchef with local treats from the Llanddulas village shop – grabbed some fresh mackerel from the nearby fisherfolk (they land them right on the beach some days), new potatoes, and a bunch of herbs. Grilled it up with a splash of lemon, served with crusty bread. Turned out half decent, though I slightly overdid the seasoning and spent the meal blaming the rain for my dodgy tastebuds. The family polished it off anyway, laughing at my “chef’s special.” Washed down with a bottle of Welsh cider – crisp and local, none of your mass-produced stuff.

Next day, we wandered to the Colwyn Bay market, just a short drive – it’s a proper gem on Sundays, stalls heaving with Welsh cheeses, bara brith, and cockles straight from the shore. Loaded up on black bomber cheddar (smoky heaven) and leeks for a proper cawl attempt back home. Mine was a bit lumpy – self-reflection moment: I’m enthusiastic but no Jamie Oliver. Still, slurping it by the sea view window, with waves crashing outside, felt dead authentic.

Evenings were pub central. The local in Llanddulas does banging fish and chips – beer-battered cod, fat chips, mushy peas, the works. We went twice, once with the dog sprawled under the table. Another night, nipped to the Old Ship in nearby Treble in Rhyl direction – no more than a couple miles – for their Sunday roast. Succulent lamb, Yorkshire puds like clouds, and gravy you could swim in. Pints of Brains flowed, and we chatted with locals about the best crab spots. One bloke tipped us off on the beach shack selling fresh crab sandwiches – grabbed some for lunch the next day, eaten on the sand. Simple perfection.

One rainy afternoon, we tried baking Welsh cakes on the hob – total disaster, more like hockey pucks, but hilarious. Laughed till we cried, then ordered pizza from the Abergele spot. Holiday food’s not about perfection; it’s the messing about, the tastes of the place, the full bellies after a coastal yomp. Left fatter, happier, and already plotting the next trip. Conway’s got me hooked.