I’ll never forget the drive up to Conway – we’d piled into the car from Manchester with high hopes of a cracking Welsh getaway, but about halfway there, the sat-nav decided to have a funny turn and sent us on a wild detour through some narrow lanes that had me white-knuckling the wheel. A classic British road trip mishap, complete with a sudden downpour that turned the windscreen into a waterfall. Still, by the time we rolled up outside our three-bedroom holiday cottage in the heart of this historic town on the River Conway, the sun was peeking out, and I was buzzing with anticipation. What a spot – centrally located, just a short stroll from the local shops, pubs, and eateries. Stepping inside, we were greeted by this elegant open-plan living space: a fully-equipped kitchen, a dining area with plenty of room for our lot, and a comfy sitting area with sofas perfect for sinking into and a smart TV for rainy evenings.

First impressions? Spot on. It felt like a proper home-from-home, ideal for our family break just north of Eryri National Park. We dumped the bags and headed straight out for a leg-stretch along the River Conway – the flat promenade path was a doddle, with views across the water that had us grinning like kids. That first walk set the tone: Conway’s castle looming in the distance, the fresh sea air, and not a care in the world.

But oh, the British weather – it’s got a mind of its own, doesn’t it? Day two dawned bright and breezy, so we laced up our boots for the heady heights of the Great Orme, that massive limestone headland just a couple of miles up the coast from Llandudno. It’s only about a 5-mile round trip on foot from town if you’re feeling ambitious, but we took the tram up partway for a laugh (saving our calves for the real hike). The clifftop paths were glorious – wild goats wandering about, panoramic views over the bay, and the Irish Sea sparkling below. We stopped at a trig point for butties, feeling like proper explorers. Pure magic.

Come afternoon, though, the skies turned moody. Grey clouds rolled in faster than you could say “Welsh drizzle,” and what was meant to be a gentle yomp along West Shore beach morphed into a soggy shuffle. Wind whipping off the waves, sand stinging our faces – we laughed it off, linking arms like a bunch of drenched penguins, but secretly cursing our optimism. Back at the cottage, we huddled in the plush sitting area with mugs of tea, plotting tomorrow’s backup.

Next day, true to form, it bucketed down, scuppering our plans for the coastal path to Penmaenmawr. Instead, we embraced the gloom with a shorter, sheltered wander around Conway’s medieval walls – high enough to dodge the worst of the rain, with fab views over the town and river. It was one of those moments that made me reflect: holidays aren’t about perfect plans, are they? They’re about rolling with the punches, whether it’s battling gales on the Orme or cosying up indoors when the heavens open. By evening, the clouds lifted just enough for a sunset stroll to the quay for fish and chips – sodden chips, mind, but unbeatable.

That’s Conway for you: hikes that thrill when the weather plays ball, and cosy detours when it doesn’t. We left fitter, happier, and with a story or two. Can’t wait to go back.