We set off from the Midlands in good spirits, the boot stuffed with beach towels, wellies, and enough snacks to feed a small army. By the time we reached the outskirts of Llandudno the satnav had us winding down narrow lanes, and I was feeling rather pleased with myself for remembering the code for the key safe. That was until I confidently marched up to the wrong cottage door, punched in the numbers, and stood blinking at a very surprised family already halfway through their tea. The laughter that followed us back down the path set the tone for the whole weekend.

Once we found the right place—Bryn Tirion, tucked just a short stroll from the sand—everything else clicked into place. The cottage sat quietly behind a low stone wall, its windows catching the late-afternoon light. Inside, the rooms felt instantly welcoming: a cosy living space with squashy sofas, a kitchen stocked with the essentials, and upstairs bedrooms that smelled faintly of fresh linen. We kicked off our shoes, claimed our beds, and wandered straight out again, drawn by the sound of the waves.

The beach was only a couple of minutes away, a wide sweep of sand curving gently towards the pier. The tide was out, leaving rock pools glinting in the sun, and the children raced ahead with buckets and nets while we ambled behind. There’s something wonderfully simple about that first afternoon by the sea—no grand plans, just the smell of salt air and the soft crunch of shells underfoot. We collected a few bits of driftwood “for the garden back home,” though we both knew they’d probably end up in the bin, and paused to watch a small fishing boat chug past.

Back at the cottage the evening unfolded in the same unhurried rhythm. We cooked a straightforward pasta supper, the windows open to the sound of gulls, then settled on the sofas with mugs of tea and a board game that quickly descended into good-natured cheating. Later, once the children were asleep, I stepped outside for a moment. The sky was clear and the air cool, and I found myself thinking how rare it feels these days to have nowhere else to be. No emails, no school runs—just the quiet promise of another day by the sea.

It’s funny how a wrong door can lead you exactly where you need to be.