I’ll never forget the drive up to Llandudno – or rather, the near-disaster that kicked it off. We’d piled into the car from Manchester, kids in the back buzzing with excitement about the seaside, me navigating via a dodgy phone signal. About halfway, just past Colwyn Bay, I took a wrong turn onto some narrow lane that twisted like a drunk snake. The SatNav cheerfully announced we were off course, and there I was, reversing into a hedge while swearing under my breath (silently, mind). A classic dad fail, but it broke the ice with laughter, and soon enough we were back on track, hearts racing with that proper holiday anticipation.

Pulling up to our detached holiday home perched high on a hill overlooking Colwyn Bay’s waves felt like striking gold. The place was spot on – off-road parking (with an EV charger we didn’t need but loved spotting), lush gardens for that serene vibe, and our own hot tub waiting like a bubbly promise. Stepping inside, the spacious living areas hit you first: plush sofas in the sitting room for sinking into with a cuppa, and a cracking kitchen-diner begging for a fry-up. First impressions? Bloody brilliant – we dumped the bags and cracked open the prosecco before the sun even dipped.

But the real magic? Getting properly lost. Llandudno’s got the promenade and pier, sure, but we ditched the crowds for hidden gems stumbled upon by accident. Day one, aiming for the beach, we veered off down a unmarked path from the hill – ended up at this tucked-away cove near Rhos-on-Sea, just a mile or so down the road. Crystal water lapping at pebbles, not a soul in sight. The kids built epic sandcastles while I paddled, freezing my toes off but grinning like an idiot. Pure bliss, no chip vans in earshot.

Next morning, hot tub session done (with added squeals from the jets), we fancied a walk. Took a wrong fork near the Little Orme – that rugged headland looming close by – and bam, secret smugglers’ path. Overgrown brambles, sea views that stopped you in your tracks, and a bench overlooking Penmaenmawr bay where we picnicked on pasties from a local bakery we’d lucked into. Felt like we’d nicked a bit of Wales just for us. Afternoon, another wander from the property led to St Trillo’s Chapel in Rhos, this tiny 6th-century thatched hut by the sea – hidden in plain sight, empty save for the hush of waves. We lit a candle, felt a proper moment of peace.

One evening, post-fish and chips in the garden (kitchen made it dead easy), we got lost again chasing a sunset trail. Ended up at a forgotten WWII lookout post on the cliffs, graffiti-faded but with views across the bay that made you go quiet. That’s when it hit me – amid the chaos of wrong turns and kid-wrangling, these accidental finds were the holiday’s heart. Not the planned stuff, but the wandering that strips away the rush. Back home now, I’m already plotting the next get-lost adventure. Llandudno, you sneaky beauty, we’ll be back.