I finally made it to Llandudno after what felt like the world's most reluctant drive from Manchester. Picture this: I'm humming along the A55, windows down, dreaming of sea breezes and fish and chips, when bam – a massive downpour hits out of nowhere. Wipers on full whack, and suddenly I'm crawling behind a lorry spraying water like a fire hose. Half an hour late, soaked to the skin just stepping out of the car, but honestly, that little mishap only ramped up the excitement. As I pulled up to the apartment, heart racing a bit, the first glimpse was a belter – right in the thick of things, with the seafront just a stone's throw away and those classic Victorian terraces giving it that proper Welsh seaside vibe. It's a cosy two-bedroom spot, dead central, sleeps four no bother, and the Wi-Fi meant I could ping pics home straight away without missing a beat.

First morning, I was buzzing to hit the Great Orme – that hulking headland looming over the bay like a sleepy giant. Weather app said clear skies, so off I went, trainers on, map in pocket (well, phone, but you get me). The tramway up was tempting, but I fancied the walk, so I trudged up the steep paths from the West Shore, lungs burning, views unfolding like a postcard. Wild goats everywhere, nattering away, and the lighthouse winking in the distance. Reached the top in under an hour, grinning like an idiot, wind whipping my hair into a right state. Sat there with a thermos of tea, watching paragliders dip and soar – pure magic.

But oh, British weather, you cheeky devil. By lunch, the fog rolled in thicker than my nan's gravy, turning the Orme into a ghostly blur. Plans for a coastal ramble along the North Shore? Scrubbed. Instead, we pivoted to the town itself – Llandudno's pier became our misty playground. Dodging the seagulls (one dive-bombed my ice cream, the robber), we wandered the length of it, arcade games pinging, the air thick with chips and candy floss. Laughed our socks off at the penny slots; I won a ten-pence piece and felt like a millionaire.

Next day, blue skies again – classic. We tackled the Little Orme this time, a shorter but punchier hike from the eastern end, cliffs plunging to the sea, seals barking below. Halfway up, hailstones the size of marbles pelted down, sending us scurrying for shelter under a handy overhang. Huddled there, dripping and giggling, I had one of those moments: life's too short not to laugh at getting caught out by the elements, innit? Makes you appreciate the sunny spells all the more.

By week's end, we'd clocked miles on the Promenade, detoured through Happy Valley's woods when rain threatened, and even braved a squally tramp to Conway Morfa for dune-bashing. The apartment was the perfect base – steps from it all, kettle on for post-hike cuppas. Llandudno's walks are brilliant like that: unpredictable weather keeps you on your toes, but the payoff's those epic views and that fresh sea air. Already plotting a return – next time, I'll pack extra socks.