I’ll never forget the drive up to Llandudno from Manchester – it’s only about an hour and a half, but of course, I managed to turn it into a proper faff. We’d loaded up the car with the dog, a boot full of snacks, and my wife’s endless pile of books, when halfway there, the sat-nav decided to have a midlife crisis and sent us on a detour through some narrow lanes that felt like they were made for donkeys, not a people carrier. Cue me swearing under my breath (quietly, mind) and the dog giving me that look like, “Mate, sort it out.” But we laughed it off, and as the Snowdonia peaks started peeking over the horizon, that buzz of anticipation kicked in – you know, that feeling of leaving the real world behind?

Pulling into the little village of Bryn Pydew, just a stone’s throw from Llandudno Junction, we got our first glimpse of the place, and blimey, it didn’t disappoint. This detached holiday home is a proper gem – think welcoming hot tub bubbling away like it’s inviting you for a dip, pet-friendly vibes so our spaniel could stretch out without a care, and inside, it’s all about those spacious living areas that just scream relaxation. The open-plan kitchen-diner with its Smart TV became our command centre for lazy brekkies, while the snug with its woodburning stove was pure bliss for evenings curled up with a flickering fire.

The joy of it all? Doing absolutely sod all, and loving every minute. We’d wake up late, potter out to the garden with mugs of tea, and just sit there as the sun crept over the Conway countryside. The garden’s a cracking spot – enclosed, private, with that hot tub steaming gently in the corner. I’d sink into a lounger with a rubbishy paperback (some detective thriller I’d nabbed from the charity shop), while the missus did the crossword and the dog chased imaginary rabbits. No schedules, no rushing – just the sound of birds and the odd distant rumble of a train from Llandudno Junction, reminding us civilisation was close but not cramping our style.

One afternoon, we did venture out briefly – a gentle amble down to the nearby Penrhyn Bay beach, barely two miles away, for a chippy lunch on the sand. But even that felt like too much effort; we were back by teatime, firing up the stove and cracking open a bottle of red. There’s something magic about slowing right down in a place like this. I caught myself one evening, staring into the fire, thinking how daft it is that back home I’m always chasing the next thing – emails, deadlines, the lot. Here, time just stretched out, and it was dead luxurious. No grand adventures needed; a good book, a warm pup on your lap, and the garden views were more than enough.

By the end of the week, we were proper wrecks – the good kind, recharged and reluctant to pack up. If you’re after a holiday where the highlight is mastering the art of lounging, this is your spot. Can’t wait to go back and perfect it.