I’ll never forget the drive up to Llandudno from Manchester – it was one of those classic British road trips where the satnav decided to have a midlife crisis just as we hit the A55. We ended up looping through some back lane in Rhos on Sea, with me swearing at the windscreen wipers (it was drizzling, naturally) and my mate Dave munching crisps like it was his last meal. But honestly, that little detour built up the anticipation – by the time we pulled up to our cosy apartment in Old Colwyn, I was starving and buzzing to explore.

First impressions? Spot on. The place was a proper home-from-home, all modern and welcoming with a cracking kitchen that screamed “cook up a storm”. No faffing about with dusty BandBs here – it felt like our own little base right on the edge of the action. We dumped the bags and headed straight out for a nose around Colwyn Bay beach, the sea breeze whipping up my appetite even more.

Food became the absolute star of the trip, as it always does when I’m let loose on holiday. That first evening, we wandered into Rhos on Sea for fish and chips from a no-nonsense takeaway – proper golden batter, mushy peas on the side, wrapped in paper that kept the warmth in. Sat on a bench overlooking the waves, it was perfection. But the real fun kicked off the next morning when I decided to play MasterChef in the apartment’s kitchen. I’d spotted a greengrocers in Colwyn Bay market with the freshest local spuds, Welsh cheeses, and racks of lamb chops. Armed with a bag of tatties and some leeks (gotta go local, right?), I attempted a shepherd’s pie. Dave laughed when it came out a bit lumpy – “Mate, it’s more like a landslide” – but slathered in gravy from a nearby butcher’s jar, it was devoured. Self-reflection moment: I’m no Gordon Ramsay, but there’s something dead satisfying about faffing in a holiday kitchen, isn’t there? Beats eating out every meal.

Llandudno proper was a five-minute drive away, and we hit the pier for ice cream first – vanilla swirl from the oldest kiosk, drippy and glorious. Then it was pub-hopping: The Cottage Loaf for a ploughman’s lunch with crumbly cheddar that melted in your mouth, washed down with a pint of local Conway ale. Later, we tried The King’s Head in town – their Sunday roast was legendary, all crispy Yorkshires and veg from nearby farms. I even snuck in a cheeky cockle stall snack on the promenade, vinegar sharp enough to wake the dead.

Back at the apartment, evenings were for experimental cooking fails that somehow worked. One night, I grilled mackerel from the Colwyn Bay fishmonger (fresh off the boats, they said) with a dodgy herb sauce – turned out alright, paired with bread from the independent bakery in Rhos. We’d crack open a bottle of plonk and plan the next feast: maybe a curry from the Llandudno high street takeaways, or foraging for picnic bits at the market stalls.

Honestly, staying there turned the whole holiday into a love letter to North Wales grub. The coastline strolls were just excuses to work up an appetite for more – beach walks to the Orme’s base, then straight to an eatery for bara brith and tea. It was all so unpretentious, hearty, and ridiculously tasty. If you’re after a spot where the eating drives the adventure, Old Colwyn’s your ticket. Can’t wait to go back and perfect that shepherd’s pie.