I’ll never forget the drive down to Cardiff for our family holiday – me at the wheel, kids bickering in the back about who got the last Haribo, and the sat-nav deciding to have a mid-M4 meltdown, rerouting us through some cheeky back lanes near Bridgend. We ended up stopping at a services for emergency pasties and a stern word with the map app, but honestly, it added to the adventure. By the time we rolled into the city, the anticipation was buzzing – I could already picture lazy mornings with coffee overlooking the river, no clocks or emails in sight.

Pulling up to our first-floor apartment on Fitzhamon Embankment felt like striking gold right in the heart of Cardiff. The views across the Principality Stadium and the sparkling Taff were jaw-dropping – we parked the car (one spot included, phew) and hauled our bags up the stairs, grinning like idiots at the promise of it all. It’s a comfy three-bed setup, perfect for our lot of six, with that urban buzz just steps away but enough space inside to feel like our own little haven. First impressions? Spot on – clean, cosy, and with a balcony that had us oohing and aahing before we’d even unpacked.

We settled in quick, the kids claiming bedrooms like it was a game of musical chairs, while I nipped out for milk and came back with arms full of local treats from the shops down the road. That first evening, we wandered to Cardiff Castle – it’s only a ten-minute stroll – and gawped at the towers like proper tourists, the littlest one pretending she was a medieval princess. Dinner was a riot at a nearby spot, fish and chips all round, with sticky faces and non-stop chatter about dragons (blame the castle). Back home, we sprawled on the sofa watching the stadium lights flicker over the water – pure magic, that.

The next day brought the simple joys we’d craved: a mooch through Bute Park, kicking leaves and feeding the ducks, then elbows-deep in street food at the Sunday market right on our doorstep. Oh, the chaos – sauce everywhere, one kid’s falafel vanishing into thin air (probably the seagulls), but the laughter made it gold. We hit the arcades on St Mary Street for a laugh, winning a naff stuffed dragon that’s now perched on the mantel back home. Evenings were for board games and takeaways, with the river murmuring outside like a lullaby.

It wasn’t all smooth – cue the morning I burned the toast spectacularly, filling the flat with smoke and sending us into fits of coughing hilarity. Made me reflect, though, on how these little cottage-life kerfuffles (even in a city flat) are what knit us tighter as a family. No grand plans, just us, pottering about within walking distance of trains, buses, bars, and all Cardiff’s charms. We left buzzing for more South Wales jaunts – who knew city chaos could feel so blissfully relaxed?