I’ll never forget the drive up to Llandudno that crisp autumn afternoon – leaves swirling like confetti across the A55, and me cursing under my breath when we got stuck behind a dawdling caravan for what felt like miles. We’d set off from Manchester full of that buzzy anticipation, dreaming of cosy firesides and bracing sea walks as the season turned properly autumnal. A quick pit stop for fish and chips saved the day, but by the time we trundled into town, the sun was dipping low, painting everything in that golden, fleeting light that screams ‘North Wales in October’.

Pulling up to our spot – a proper double-fronted cottage smack in the heart of the action – we were gobsmacked by the first impressions. Tucked just paces from the bustle of shops, pubs, and the beach, it felt like we’d lucked into the perfect hub without the faff of searching for parking. Three off-road spaces round the back made unloading a doddle, and stepping into that Victorian-style hallway? Pure charm, with the faint scent of woodsmoke already teasing from the living spaces ahead. For ten of us – family and mates crammed in for a group getaway – it was spot on: elegant en-suites, a cracking enclosed garden (lovely for morning brews), and rooms that wrapped you up like a hug.

Autumn shaped every minute of it, turning what could’ve been a standard seaside jaunt into something magical. Mornings started with frosty air nipping at our noses as we wandered down to the pier, grabbing hot pasties from a stall while the Irish Sea churned grey and wild under slate skies. No summer crowds meant we had Llandudno’s promenade almost to ourselves – perfect for ambling along the West Shore, kicking through piles of coppery leaves with the kids giggling about conker hunts. One day, we hit the Great Orme Tramway, chugging up through bracken turning fiery red, the views over the bay stopping us in our tracks. “This is proper Wales,” I muttered, half to myself, feeling that gentle pang of reflection – how often do we rush past these simple joys back home?

Evenings were the real treat, thanks to the season’s early dusk. We’d pile into the contemporary living areas, fire roaring (bless the hosts for stocking logs), cracking open local Conway ales while rustling up feasts in the big kitchen. Pub crawls along Mostyn Street were a laugh – think hearty Welsh rarebit and live folk tunes in dimly lit corners, rain pattering on the windows like a cosy soundtrack. One night, a sudden downpour had us dashing back, drenched but howling with laughter, towels and hot toddies waiting. The beach was transformed too: no baking sands, but epic driftwood fires (safely, mind) where we toasted marshmallows under a canopy of stars peeking through scudding clouds.

That self-reflective moment hit on our last dawn walk – watching the sun pierce the mist over the bay, I realised autumn’s mellow vibe had stripped away the holiday hype, leaving just us, proper chats, and memories that’ll outlast any Instagram snap. Llandudno in this season? It’s not just a stay; it’s a reset. We’re already plotting a return.