I’ll never forget the drive up to Conway – we’d packed the car to bursting with snacks, books, and enough board games to see us through a nuclear winter, only for the sat-nav to chuck a wobbly just as we hit the A55. It rerouted us through some cheeky little lanes that had me white-knuckling the wheel, convinced we’d end up in a sheep’s front garden. But oh, what a payoff when we finally rolled up. There it was, this grand old Victorian pile in Llandudno, all elegant and welcoming, with its three storeys promising nooks for everyone. My heart did a little flip – after months of rushing about, this felt like permission to just… stop.

We were a big group, mates and family spilling out like overexcited kids, and from the off, the place wrapped us up like a cosy hug. Ground floor had a massive king-size bedroom right there for anyone wanting to crash early, plus a handy cloakroom so we weren’t tripping over boots. Upstairs, the first floor was a dream: family rooms with doubles and singles, all kitted out with en-suites that had proper walk-in showers, heated towel rails, and everything you need after a lazy day. Two sitting rooms meant we could sprawl in one with telly on low, while the other stayed a quiet haven for reading. The kitchen-diner was a godsend – massive, with space to rustle up brekkie without elbowing anyone – and that formal dining room begged for the odd posh tea, though we mostly grazed.

But honestly, the real magic? Doing sod all. We’d arrived buzzing with that holiday anticipation, half-planning beach walks along North Shore and maybe a potter to the pier for ice creams. In the end, though, we barely stirred. The private garden became our universe – that hot tub bubbling away like it was whispering “get in here”. We’d sink into it mid-afternoon, telly blaring faintly from inside, steam rising as the Conway hills loomed soft in the distance. Mornings were for lounging in the sitting rooms, me curled up with a dog-eared paperback, feet up, while others dozed or fiddled with puzzles. Lunch? Whatever was in the fridge, eaten al fresco if the sun peeked out, which it did just enough to feel cheeky.

One afternoon, I caught myself staring at a butterfly flitting about the garden, and it hit me – I hadn’t checked my phone in hours. No emails, no deadlines, just this glorious slowdown. We did venture out once, for fish and chips from a chippy down the road, eaten back in the garden with the sun dipping low. Laughed about that sat-nav fiasco over cups of tea. Nights blurred into chill sessions: someone strumming a guitar softly, hot tub dips under the stars, collapsing into those plush beds upstairs.

Looking back, it wasn’t about ticking off sights – Llandudno’s pier and prom are cracking, sure, but they could wait. This was about reclaiming time, letting the world spin without us. If you’re after a spot to switch off proper, round up your lot and go. We left fatter, happier, and already plotting a return. Pure bliss.