We’d only been on the road an hour when the sat-nav decided to send us down a lane so narrow the wing mirrors kissed the hedges. By the time we’d reversed into someone’s driveway and swapped seats so my partner could take over, the mood in the car had slipped from holiday excitement to quiet bickering. Still, the sight of the sea glittering beyond the rooftops of Llandudno cheered us up, and twenty minutes later we were pulling up outside Platinum 4+2 Hot Tub. The cottage sat just far enough from the front to feel tucked away, yet the beach path was a two-minute stroll.

After we’d dragged the bags inside and worked out which remote worked the hot tub (trial and error, mostly error), hunger hit like a hammer. We wandered into town with no real plan, just the vague hope of chips. Instead we found ourselves in a little back-street bakery that still had warm Welsh cakes on the counter. We bought a bagful and ate them on a bench overlooking the bay, powdered sugar dusting our jackets like fresh snow.

By early evening the wind had picked up, so we ducked into the first pub that looked warm. The menu boasted local mussels in cider, and I ordered them without thinking. They arrived steaming, with thick bread for dunking, and I managed to splash broth down my front before the first shell was empty. My partner pretended not to notice, which only made me laugh louder.

The next morning we headed to the weekly market near the pier. Stalls offered everything from fresh cockles to jars of bara brith. We filled a tote with smoked mackerel, a small round of Caerphilly, and a punnet of strawberries that smelled like summer. Back at the cottage the kitchen proved well-equipped, though my attempt to grill the mackerel on the barbecue turned into an exercise in smoke alarms and frantic fanning of tea towels. We ended up eating it cold with salad on the patio, the hot tub bubbling away beside us like a smug bystander.

That afternoon we strolled along the promenade to a harbourside café for proper fish and chips. Sitting on the wall, watching kids chase seagulls, I realised I’d spent more time thinking about the next meal than about the view itself. Maybe that’s what these short breaks are for—letting small pleasures, even the smoky ones, take centre stage.