We’d only been on the road an hour when the satnav decided we needed a “quicker route” through the back lanes of Conwy. Ten minutes later we were wedged between two stone walls with a tractor bearing down on us, and my husband swearing he’d never trust Google again. By the time we finally rolled into Llandudno the children were singing sea shanties at full volume and I was ready for a cuppa and a sit-down.

Sea View turned out to be exactly what the name promised. A neat little white cottage tucked on a quiet side street, barely two minutes’ walk from the promenade. The key was in the lock-box as promised, and stepping inside felt like being hugged by the place itself: a cosy living room with squashy sofas, a wood-burner already laid, and the faint smell of fresh bread from the welcome hamper on the table. Upstairs, the kids claimed the bunks with the speed of seasoned holiday pros, while I opened the bedroom window and let the salt air drift in.

After a quick unpack we wandered down to the beach. It was that soft, early-evening light that makes everything look gentler, and the tide was out far enough for rock-pooling without wellies. The children darted between the shallow pools, shrieking whenever a tiny crab scuttled sideways, and I found myself standing still for a moment, just listening to the gulls and the gentle hush of the waves. I realised how long it had been since any of us had properly slowed down—no school runs, no work emails pinging, just sand between our toes and the promise of fish and chips for tea.

Back at the cottage the little patio caught the last of the sun, so we dragged the garden chairs out and ate straight from the paper, watching the lights come on along the front. Later, once the children were tucked up, I sat on the sofa with a glass of wine and flicked through the guest book. Page after page of families saying the same thing: simple days, salty hair, early nights. It struck me that we’d only been here a few hours and already felt part of that quiet rhythm.

Tomorrow we might hire bikes along the promenade or take the little train up the Great Orme if the weather holds, but tonight there’s nowhere else I’d rather be. The journey might have started with a comedy detour, but it feels like we’ve arrived exactly where we needed to be.