We’d barely made it out of the car park before the first mishap struck. I’d insisted on carrying both the beach bags and the picnic while my partner wrestled with the key safe, and the inevitable happened: the strap on one bag snapped, scattering sun cream, flip-flops and half a packet of Jammie Dodgers across the gravel. By the time we’d scooped everything up, we were laughing too hard to feel cross, and Seabreeze’s blue door was already open, promising tea and a proper sit-down.

Inside, the cottage felt exactly like the photos—light, tidy and smelling faintly of fresh paint. The living-room window framed a slice of Llandudno’s curving promenade and the pale sweep of the bay. We dumped our bags, made a quick brew, and decided the weather looked promising enough for a stroll along the North Shore. The forecast had promised wall-to-wall sunshine, but Welsh skies have their own timetable; by the time we reached the paddling pool near the bandstand, a soft drizzle had started. We ducked under the striped awning of a nearby café, ordered two Welsh cakes, and watched the seagulls squabble over crumbs until the shower passed.

Once the rain eased we followed the wide tarmac path that hugs the coast toward the Little Orme. The tide was out, revealing long stretches of damp sand dotted with tiny shells, and the air carried that clean, salty edge you only get after rain. We walked slowly, stopping every few minutes to point out jellyfish stranded in rock pools or to let a family with a bouncy spaniel overtake us. Halfway along we spotted a bench perfectly placed for views back to the pier, and we sat there with our picnic—slightly squashed sandwiches and the surviving Jammie Dodgers—until the sun broke through again.

By mid-afternoon the clouds had lifted completely, turning the sea a bright, almost Mediterranean blue. We carried on as far as the lower slopes of the Little Orme, where a gravel track leads up through gorse and bracken. It wasn’t a serious climb, just enough to get the legs moving and the heart rate up, and the breeze kept us cool. From the first proper viewpoint we could see the whole sweep of Llandudno Bay, the Victorian pier jutting out like a delicate finger, and the faint outline of Anglesey on the horizon. A kestrel hovered above us, and we stood quietly, listening to waves washing the shingle far below.

We turned back when the light started to soften, retracing our steps along the coastal path. The drizzle never returned, but the breeze had picked up, tugging at sun hats and sending crisp packets skittering along the promenade. Back at Seabreeze we kicked off sandy shoes in the little porch, made more tea, and sat by the window watching families still strolling below. I found myself thinking how easy it is to let a single grey forecast shrink your plans; instead we’d simply adapted, swapping a long hike for a flexible wander that still left us pleasantly tired and a little sun-kissed. Tomorrow, I decided, we’d check the tide times again and see where the path took us next.