I’ll never forget the drive up 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 daft detour through some narrow lanes that had me gripping the wheel like my life depended on it. A classic case of technology versus my questionable map-reading skills from the passenger seat. Still, by the time we rolled into town, the anticipation was buzzing – that first glimpse of the seafront had us grinning like kids at Christmas.

Pulling up to our second-floor apartment in a lovely characterful building right opposite the Great Orme Tramway, we were chuffed to bits. It’s the sort of spot mere paces from the promenade’s lively buzz, perfect for couples or young families like ours, with a superking bed in the master for us and a bunk plus single in the family room for the little ones. First impressions? Spot on – cosy, well-equipped kitchen that screamed “cook up a storm,” and those tram views promising lazy mornings with a brew in hand.

Food was the absolute star of our stay, naturally. We hit the ground running with fish and chips from a promenade stall – proper crispy batter, fat chunks of cod, and mushy peas that were pure nostalgia. Washed down with a pint of local Conway ale at the Cottage Loaf just a stroll away, a cracking little pub with low ceilings and a roaring fire. The landlady recommended their homemade steak pie, and blimey, it didn’t disappoint – flaky pastry, tender meat, the works. We devoured it while watching the world go by, chips from earlier still haunting our dreams.

Next morning, I fancied playing masterchef in that brilliant kitchen. Nipped to the Llandudno Market on Mostyn Street – what a gem. Stalls heaving with fresh Welsh cheeses, artisan breads, and plump leeks that practically begged to be turned into cawl. I rustled up a decent stab at it: lamb shanks slow-cooked with carrots and pearl barley, though I’ll admit, my version was more “rustic enthusiastic” than Michelin-star. The kids demolished it anyway, declaring it better than Mum’s (cheeky sods). We paired it with crusty bread from the market’s bakery stall – still warm, slathered in local butter. Gentle self-reflection moment: turns out I’m not half bad in the kitchen when there’s no pressure, just good ingredients and hungry mouths.

Evenings were pub-hopping heaven. The King’s Head did a mean Sunday roast – Yorkshire puds the size of saucers, roasties crispy as you like, and gravy that could make you weep. We tried their local crab claws too, fresh from the bay, dipped in garlic mayo. Another night, it was the Queen’s Head for fish finger butties (posh ones with tartare sauce) and a cheeky pudding of sticky toffee that had us scraping the bowl. One hilarious low point: my attempt at bara brith went pear-shaped – too soggy, ended up feeding it to the gulls from the balcony. Laughing about it over ice creams from Promenade Gelato later, though – vanilla and rhubarb for me, heaven.

Llandudno’s food scene had us hooked, from market hauls to pub feasts. Left with full bellies, happy hearts, and a promise to return for more. What a holiday.