I’ll never forget the drive up to our holiday barn in North Wales – a proper white-knuckle start to the trip. We’d piled into the car in Manchester, full of beans after a greasy spoon brekkie, only for the sat-nav to chuck us onto some winding B-road that felt like it was auditioning for a rally stage. Halfway there, I misjudged a puddle the size of a small lake, and splash – we were soaked through the open windows. Cue much faffing with soggy maps and me blaming the tech gods, but honestly, it broke the ice and had us laughing by the time we spotted the hills.

Pulling up, my heart did a little flip – that buzz of arriving somewhere new. The barn was this cosy, characterful spot tucked away near Llanrwst, all welcoming with its homely vibe and that fresh country air hitting you like a tonic. First impressions? Spot on. We dumped the bags and cracked open a cheeky bottle of local cider while unpacking the cool bag stuffed with provisions. I’d been dreaming of proper home-cooked feasts all week, none of that posh restaurant malarkey – just us lot messing about in the kitchen.

Right from the off, food took centre stage. Day one, we nipped into Llanrwst for a mooch around the market – proper Welsh grub heaven. I snaffled some bara brith and fresh cheddars that were so tangy they made your toes curl. Back at the barn, my attempt at cawl had the lot of us in stitches; I overdid the leeks and it turned into a gloopy soup that tasted like a soggy field, but with hunks of crusty bread from the bakery, it went down a treat. Gentle self-reflection there: I’m no Jamie Oliver, but there’s something dead satisfying about faffing in a holiday kitchen, isn’t there? Makes you feel like you’re living the local life.

Evenings were pub perfection. The Eagle’s down the road in Llanrwst does a cracking pint and their lamb shank that falls off the bone – we demolished two between us one night, sides splitting over daft stories. Another evening, we hit a cosy spot in Betws y Coed, just a quick hop away, where the fish and chips were golden and fluffy, wrapped in newspaper like old times. Paired with a pint of Conway Brewery ale, it was pure bliss after a gentle riverside stroll. No massive hikes for us this time – we were too busy plotting the next meal.

Conway was our big treat, that World Heritage gem with its castle looming like a fairy tale. Wandered the walls, then straight to the harbour for cockles and mussels from the stalls – salty, fresh, and stupidly moreish. Popped into independent shops for Welsh cakes to scoff later, and treated ourselves at a harbourside café to rarebit that was all bubbly cheese and mustard kick. Tried fishing off the quay one arvo, but mostly it was an excuse to crack open picnic sarnies with local smoked salmon.

Back at base, we had a bash at cooking up a storm from the Welsh Food Centre haul – think slow-roasted Welsh beef with tatties and gravy that could glue floorboards. Pub crawls mixed with barn barbecues kept the holiday humming. It’s mad how a spot so handy for Conway, Llanrwst, and Betws y Coed turns into a foodie paradise. Left fatter, happier, and already plotting the next trip. Proper tonic for the soul.