I’ll never forget the drive up to Llandudno from Manchester – it was meant to be a straightforward two-hour jaunt along the A55, but no, I managed to take a wrong turn near Colwyn Bay and ended up in a snarl of roadworks, faffing about with the satnav while the kids in the back seat started their “are we there yet?” chorus. Still, by the time we rolled up to our ground-floor apartment on the seafront in Rhos-on-Sea, just a hop from Llandudno, the sun was peeking through the clouds, and my heart lifted. What a spot – right by the beach, off-road parking for the car, and pet-friendly too, which was perfect for our daft labrador, Monty. Stepping inside felt like coming home; the living-dining room was all plush and cosy, Smart TV ready for a film, and that kitchen practically begged for a cuppa and some bacon butties.

First impressions? Spot on. We dumped the bags, grabbed our wellies, and headed straight out for a promenade stroll along the front, waves crashing just yards away, the salty air whipping up a proper appetite. I’d been buzzing about this holiday for weeks, dreaming of those classic Welsh coastal walks, and Rhos-on-Sea delivered in spades – it’s got that unpretentious charm, with the beach and little shops all within easy reach.

Day two, we laced up for the prom walk towards Colwyn Bay, about three miles of flat bliss under blue skies, chatting nonsense and chucking sticks for Monty. But oh, the British weather – it’s got a wicked sense of humour, doesn’t it? By afternoon, the heavens opened, turning our planned extension to the Little Orme into a squelchy dash for cover under a café awning. We laughed it off with fish and chips, rain lashing the windows, me reflecting on how I always pack too many layers yet still end up soaked. “Typical me,” I thought, “chasing sunbeams in Wales.”

Next morning, brighter again, we tackled the headland path from Rhos, a gentle two-mile hike up to the viewpoint overlooking Llandudno Bay. The views were cracking – Penmaenmawr headland in the distance, gulls wheeling about – and Monty bounded ahead like he owned the place. But come lunch, fog rolled in thick as pea soup, scuppering our picnic plans. Undeterred, we pivoted to a sheltered beach ramble, poking about rock pools and dodging sudden showers. It became our rhythm: lace up at dawn for a yomp along the coastal path towards Deganwy, maybe three miles out and back, marvelling at the changing light on the Great Orme. Then, inevitable drizzle would hit, sending us scarpering to the apartment for kettle-on rituals, drying off while bingeing a box set.

One evening, post a blustery tramp to the prom bandstand – wind howling like a banshee – I sat by the window, cuppa in hand, watching the sea churn. It hit me: these weather-whipped walks are what make a Welsh seaside break magic. No Instagram perfection, just real, soggy joy that leaves you knackered and grinning. We cut our longer hikes short more than once, but every impromptu shelter-stop sparked daft stories and that warm glow inside. If you’re after a proper getaway with sea air in your lungs and adaptability in your veins, this neck of the woods is pure gold. Can’t wait to go back.