I’ll never forget the drive down to Newport in Pembrokeshire – we’d loaded up the car with enough snacks to feed a small army, but halfway there, just past Cardigan, the sat-nav decided to throw a wobbly and sent us on a detour through some narrow lanes that had me white-knuckling the wheel. “Are we lost or on an adventure?” my mate Dave quipped, munching on a pasty. Turned out it was both, but we rolled up to the Llwyngwair Estate just as the sun dipped behind Carningli, hearts racing with that proper holiday buzz. First impressions? Blimey, what a spot – this bright, comfy manor-house apartment, all on one level, tucked into the estate’s lush grounds with trees and streams everywhere. Felt like stepping into a proper Welsh idyll.

We’d planned a lazy getaway focused on eating our way around, and Newport delivered in spades. Unpacked, cracked open a bottle of local cider, and straight into the kitchen – it’s kitted out nicely for faffing about with meals. First night, I fancied playing chef with some fresh mackerel we’d nabbed from the fishmonger in town. Scales everywhere, and my attempt at pan-frying turned into a slightly smoky disaster – lesson learned: don’t multitask with the hob and a phone call home. Dave salvaged it with a dollop of homemade tartare sauce from the fridge staples, and we scoffed it on the patio, watching the Preseli Hills glow pink. Proper laugh, and a gentle nudge to myself: maybe stick to pub grub next time.

Next morning, a quick bimble into Newport – it’s only 1.5 miles, easy stroll or a five-minute drive – and the market square was buzzing. Grabbed Welsh cheeses, crusty bread, and a punnet of strawberries that tasted like summer. The little shops had everything: jars of local honey, smoked bacon from Pembrokeshire pigs, and pasties stuffed with lamb and mint. Back at the apartment, we rustled up a massive ploughman’s lunch, pairing it with ale from the nearby Nevern Valley brewery we spotted on a label. Dead satisfying, sprawled out in the lounge with the windows open to the birdsong.

Evenings were for the pubs, and Newport’s got a cracking scene. The Golden Lion became our local – cosy as anything, with fish and chips that could win awards (crisp batter, proper mushy peas). One night, we tried the seafood platter: cockles, prawns, and scallops straight from the coast, washed down with a pint of Brains. Chatty locals swapped stories about River Nevern fishing, and I couldn’t help reflecting on how these simple feeds beat any fancy restaurant. Another evening at the Royal Oak, where the lamb shank fell off the bone, and we lingered over sticky toffee pudding, debating if we’d earned it with a gentle walk along the estuary.

Tried cooking again midweek – a Welsh rarebit with that market cheddar, but I overdid the mustard and it was a bit fiery. Still, with the estate’s peaceful vibe and streams gurgling outside, it felt like home. Left feeling stuffed and content, already plotting a return for more of Newport’s foodie charms. If you’re after a holiday built around brilliant bites and brews, this is the ticket.