I’ll never forget the drive up to Porthmadog – that classic North Wales road trip where the satnav decides to have a midlife crisis just as you hit the A487. Mine cheerfully directed me down a narrow lane that turned out to be a sheep track, complete with actual woolly locals glaring at me like I’d gatecrashed their picnic. A quick three-point turn (more like 15) later, and I was back on track, heart racing but laughing at my own daftness. By the time the estuary came into view, all that stress melted away. I couldn’t wait to pull into that allocated parking spot at South Snowdon Wharf and step into my little haven.

First impressions? Blimey, they hit like a warm hug. This newly refurbished one-bedroom apartment on the second floor felt like it was made for unwinding – bright, cosy, and with those jaw-dropping views over Porthmadog’s harbour. Ships bobbing gently, seagulls doing their aerial acrobatics, and the mountains of Eryri National Park teasing in the distance. It’s smack in the centre of town, yet tucked away on a private development, perfect for me and my border terrier, Monty, who immediately claimed the sofa as his throne.

But honestly, the joy of the whole trip was doing sod all – and I mean that in the best possible way. No grand hikes or packed itineraries; just lazy days stretching out like a cat in the sun. Mornings started slow: I’d brew a pot of tea in the open-plan kitchen (properly kitted out, with everything from cafetière to chopping boards for knocking up a lazy brunch), then flop onto the comfy seating with a book. Monty would sprawl beside me, occasionally twitching in his dreams of chasing estuary ducks. The views from the windows were my telly – watching the tide roll in and out, fishing boats chugging back with their catch. It was mesmerising, that gentle rhythm making time blur.

Afternoons? More of the same, but with added garden lounging. The shared outdoor space down below was a godsend – a quiet patch of green with benches overlooking the water. I’d wander down with a coffee and my latest paperback (a cracking crime thriller that had me hooked), settling in to read while Monty sniffed every blade of grass. The harbour’s hum was the perfect soundtrack: distant chatter from the high street, the odd horn from the Ffestiniog Railway steaming by. No rush to explore beyond a gentle stroll to the Italianate village green for an ice cream or a pasty from the bakery – just enough to stretch the legs before retreating back to base.

One evening, as the sun dipped behind the hills painting the sky all pink and gold, I caught myself just staring out the window, mug in hand. Monty snoring softly, book forgotten on my lap. It hit me then – how rarely we let ourselves slow down like this. Life back home is a whirlwind of deadlines and to-do lists, but here, in this perfect little spot, I’d accidentally nailed the art of proper rest. No FOMO, no guilt, just pure, unadulterated pottering. If you’re after North Wales without the sweat, this is your ticket to bliss. We left feeling recharged, already plotting a return for more of those glorious nothings.