I’ll never forget the drive up to our holiday spot in north Wales – a proper mission from Manchester, dodging those cheeky Welsh mountain roads that twist like they’re trying to shake you off. About halfway, we had a right faff when the sat-nav decided to send us on a detour through some narrow lane where the hedges were practically kissing the wing mirrors. Cue mild panic from the passenger seat (me, obviously), but we laughed it off with a bag of Percy Pigs and some dodgy car karaoke. By the time we rolled into Llanbedrgoch, just a quick hop from Benllech at 1.9 miles and Red Wharf Bay 2.5 miles away, the anticipation was buzzing. What if it wasn’t as lush as the pics? Silly worry – first impressions were spot on.

It’s a cracking luxury detached house, perfect for our gang of eight mates and family, with that open-plan vibe that makes everything feel effortless. Stepped inside to a handy utility for dumping coats, boots and the odd muddy welly, then straight into the social heart: a glossy kitchen where you perch at the breakfast bar, cheering on the cook fiddling with the coffee maker, before sprawling at the dining table for a lazy supper. Easy beach access too, but honestly, who needs it when the garden’s calling?

That first evening, we cracked open a few tins, ordered fish and chips from the local, and just... melted into the sofas. The joy of doing bugger all hit me like a warm hug. No plans, no rush – just the gentle hum of the sea in the distance and the garden stretching out like a private chill zone. Mornings blurred into afternoons of reading tatty paperbacks I’d hauled from home (mine was some daft crime thriller that had me chuckling at the plot holes), feet up on the cushions, cuppa in hand. The garden was the star: lush lawn begging for nothing more than a lounger and a snooze, with birdsong and the odd butterfly flitting about. We’d wander out there mid-morning, mugs steaming, and flop down with zero agenda. One day, I swear I spent three hours watching clouds shape-shift – proper mindfulness without the yoga pants.

There was gentle humour in it all, like when my mate Dave tried “helping” with brekkie and turned the coffee maker into a frothy volcano. We howled, then went back to our books. No big walks to Benllech’s sands or Red Wharf Bay’s curve – though they’re close enough for a whim – just pure, slothful bliss. Evenings? Board games that devolved into storytelling and more wine, the open-plan space wrapping us up cosy.

Looking back, it was a gentle nudge to myself: I’m always rushing, aren’t I? This spot forced me to slow right down, breathe deep, and savour the nothing-much. No grand adventures, just recharging in that perfect Anglesey hideaway. Best holiday in ages – we’re already plotting a return for more of the same.