I’ll never forget the drive to Llandudno – we’d packed the car with enough snacks to feed a small army, but halfway there, just past Colwyn Bay, the satnav decided to throw a wobbly and sent us on a detour through some narrow lanes that had me gripping the wheel like my life depended on it. A classic case of over-reliance on technology; I ended up pulling over for a brew at a roadside café to calm my nerves. Still, by the time we rolled into town, the anticipation was buzzing – that proper seaside excitement, you know, with the promise of fish and chips on the horizon.

The property was a cosy little detached cottage, all welcoming and tucked away just right for a family getaway. First impressions? Spot on. It had this lovely homely vibe, with a kitchen that screamed “get cooking” and a garden perfect for al fresco suppers. We dumped the bags and headed straight out for a walk through the pretty park, the sea air hitting us like a tonic, then into the bustling town centre. Llandudno’s got that classic Victorian seaside charm, with shops spilling onto the pavements and eateries tempting you at every turn.

Food became our mission from the off. First stop: the pier, Wales’ longest, where we grabbed fresh cockles and mussels from a stall – salty, moreish, and half the price you’d pay back home. Lunch was at a chippy near North Beach, the kind where the batter’s crispy enough to make you weak at the knees. But the real joy was firing up the cottage kitchen that evening. I fancied myself as a master chef, attempting a Welsh rarebit with local cheddar from the market we’d stumbled on that morning. The market’s a gem – stalls groaning under fresh bread, cheeses, and plump sausages from Conway Valley farms. Mine turned out a bit lumpy (gentle self-reflection: maybe less Guinness next time), but washed down with a pint from a nearby pub, it was perfection. Laughing about my culinary fail over sticky toffee pudding felt like the holiday highlight.

Next day, we wandered along the beach to West Shore, picking up crab sandwiches from a beachside hut – sweet, fresh meat that tasted of the sea itself. Pub lunch at the King’s Head in town was next: hearty lamb cawl, thick with veg and mutton, followed by bara brith cake that stuck to the ribs. Evenings blurred into more grazing – fish suppers from Arcades chip shop, where the haddock’s sourced local and fried to golden glory. We tried our hand at a cottage barbecue one night, grilling market-bought mackerel with lemon and herbs; the smoke wafting through the garden had neighbours peeking over curiously.

One rainy afternoon, we ducked into Mostyn Street for coffee and Welsh cakes from a bakery – hot, griddled, and slathered in butter. Dinner that night? A pub crawl ending at the Cottage Loaf, where the homemade pies (steak and ale, naturally) were so good I nearly didn’t share. It’s funny how a holiday like this makes you realise how much joy there is in simple, local grub – no fancy restaurants needed, just good ingredients and a bit of messing about in the kitchen. We left Llandudno a few pounds heavier, but with bellies full of memories and a promise to return for more.