I finally made it to Llandudno after a bit of a faff on the A55 – some cheeky diversion had me crawling along behind a caravan the size of a small house, swearing under my breath that I'd never pack so much next time. But as we crested the hill into Deganwy, the sun glinting off the River Conway and that first whiff of sea air hitting the car windows, all was forgiven. I was buzzing with anticipation, dreaming of fish and chips and a cold pint, ready to flop into our holiday pad.

Pulling up to this cracking dormer bungalow, right in the thick of it all, I was chuffed to bits. It's got that partial ground-floor setup that's perfect for us lot – me, the missus, four kids, and our daft Labrador, who was already eyeing up the enclosed garden like it was his personal kingdom. Inside, it's all fresh and modern, with a kitchen kitted out like something from a telly chef's dream: shiny hob, massive fridge, and gadgets galore. We dumped the bags and cracked straight into unpacking the cool bag – first job, a proper Welsh tea to celebrate.

That first evening, I fancied playing master chef. Nipped down to the little parade of shops just paces away – essentials galore, including a cracking butcher with the freshest local lamb. Grabbed some chops, new potatoes from the veg stall, and a bundle of leeks that screamed "cawl time". My attempt at a hearty Welsh stew was... enthusiastic, shall we say. It bubbled away nicely on the state-of-the-art cooker, but I overseasoned it with too much thyme (note to self: herbs aren't optional confetti). Still, gathered round the woodburner with plates piled high, it tasted like victory. The kids hoovered it up, and the dog got his sneaky scraps. Proper home-from-home vibes.

Next day, we wandered to the beach – literally a stone's throw – and stumbled on a pop-up market by the promenade. Oh, it was heaven: stalls heaving with cockles straight from the bay, bara brith still warm from the oven, and cheese from Conway's little farms that could make you weep. I loaded up on smoked mackerel and fresh bread, then back to the bungalow for a alfresco lunch in the garden. Slathered that fish on thick slices with a dollop of mustard – simple, salty perfection. Later, we hit the local in Deganwy for pints and pie. The Bodafon Arms does a mean steak and ale one, with chips crispier than my attempts at home. Laughter, kids on lime and sodas, dog snoozing under the table – I caught myself thinking, "This is what holidays are for, innit? Not faffing about, just good grub and good company."

Evenings blurred into more experiments: one night, I nailed a seafood linguine using prawns from the fishmonger (pro tip: don't skimp on garlic), served with a family film on the telly. Another, we pub-crawled to The Groes Inn nearby – their Sunday roast was legendary, all crispy Yorkshires and gravy you could swim in. Self-catering here means you can mix it up: markets for picnic feasts, pubs for lazy nights, and your own kitchen for those "I can cook better than the chef" moments that end in giggles.

Reflecting now, back home with a stone heavier but heart fuller, it was the food that stole the show. That bungalow's setup made it dead easy to eat like kings without the hassle. If you're after a seaside nosh-fest, you can't go wrong round here. Can't wait to go back – next time, less thyme, more time.