I’ll never forget the drive up to North Wales – rain lashing the windscreen like it had a personal grudge, and then, just past Bangor, the sat-nav decided to throw a wobbly and sent us down a narrow lane that was more puddle than path. We ended up with mud halfway up the tyres and me muttering about why I hadn’t packed wellies. But honestly, that little mishap just built the anticipation – by the time we crested the hill and spotted the sea glinting below, we were buzzing.

Pulling up to this spacious detached cottage in Llanfair was pure magic. Elevated with these cracking sea views right over the bay towards Shell Island and the Llyn Peninsula, it’s a proper gem, just a short stroll from Harlech beach. The place felt like a hug from the start – roomy living diner where we could all pile in without elbows clashing, perfect for our group of mates. First impressions? Spot on. We dumped the bags and cracked open a bottle of fizz on the terrace, watching the waves roll in.

But let’s be honest, the real star of the show was the food. We’d stocked up en route at a little market in Porthmadog – fresh crab from the boats, local cheeses that could make you weep, and bags of those knobbly heritage tomatoes. That first evening, I fancied myself as a proper chef, attempting a seafood linguine with the crab we’d bought. Disaster? Nearly. I overseasoned it with too much chilli from the pantry (whose idea was that?), but slathered in butter and washed down with a crisp Welsh white, it was forgiven amid much laughter. Self-reflection moment: I’m no Jamie Oliver, but there’s something therapeutic about faffing in a holiday kitchen with mates, isn’t there?

Next day, we wandered the 400 yards to Harlech beach for a bracing walk, then hit the high street for lunch at a cosy pub. The Talwen was heaving with locals – we grabbed fish and chips so fresh the batter crackled, mushy peas on the side, and a pint of Brains to boot. Proper job. Evenings became a ritual: foraging at the weekly farmers’ market in Harlech for bara brith and smoked mackerel, then back to the cottage for communal feasts. One night, I nailed a Welsh lamb hotpot with spuds from the market, slow-cooked while we played cards with the bay twinkling outside. The generous rooms meant we could sprawl out – some on the sofa dissecting the day’s eats, others sneaking off for a quiet read with a brew.

We popped to the Queen’s Ferry pub in Llanfair too, just down the lane – their Sunday roast was legendary, all golden Yorkshires and gravy you could swim in. Tried my hand at cawl one afternoon, that hearty lamb stew with leeks straight from a local veg stall; came out a bit watery, mind, but the views made up for it. Eating like kings without the hassle – markets for bargains, pubs for that proper Welsh welcome, and the cottage as our base camp. It’s got me thinking: why don’t I cook more at home? This trip was a feast for the soul as much as the belly. Can’t wait to go back.