I finally rolled into Llandudno after a bit of a faff on the A55 – nothing major, just me spilling half a thermos of builder's tea all over the passenger seat five minutes from the turn-off. Classic me, innit? But as I pulled up to Alpine Lodge on that crisp afternoon, any grumpiness melted away. This cosy little lodge, tucked just on the edge of town near Abergele, felt like a proper Welsh welcome. Stone-built with a pitched roof and those alpine-style balconies overlooking a neat garden, it screamed "put your feet up and forget the world." I was knackered from the drive, but the first whiff of sea air mixed with something baking nearby had my stomach rumbling already.

Dumping my bags in the surprisingly spacious open-plan living area – think plush sofas, a wood-burner begging for a fire later, and a kitchen that looked like it meant business – I headed straight out for first impressions. Llandudno's high street was buzzing, just a short hop away, and I made a beeline for the market stalls lining Mostyn Street. Proper local vibes: fresh veg from Conwy Valley farms, crusty loaves from the bakery van, and a bloke hawking Welsh cheeses that smelled like they'd been aged in a dragon's cave. I grabbed a chunk of caerphilly, some smoked mackerel from the fish stall, and a punnet of fat, juicy strawberries that were still warm from the sun. Bargain at a fiver, and miles better than anything from the supermarket.

Back at the lodge, I fancied playing masterchef. The kitchen was kitted out nicely – gas hob, proper knives, even a herb planter on the windowsill with rosemary and thyme waving at me. I sliced up that mackerel with new potatoes I'd nabbed from the market, chucked in some butter and a splash of cider vinegar for that sharp Welsh kick. It was meant to be a simple pan-fry, but I got cocky and overdid the heat. Result? A bit of a blackened crisp on the edges, but blimey, it tasted brilliant with a doorstep of bread slathered in cheese. Sat out on the balcony as the sun dipped over the bay, I scoffed the lot, feeling like I'd nailed a proper holiday feast. Light humour in the mishap, though – my cooking attempts always end up tasting better than they look, don't they?

Evening called for a pub crawl to cement those first impressions. First stop: The King's Head, just a ten-minute wander into town. Proper old boozer with low beams and a fire crackling away. I went for the fish and chips – massive cod fillet, chips like they'd been triple-fried, mushy peas on the side. Washed down with a pint of Conwy Welsh Pride, crisp and hoppy. Chatted with the barman about local brews; turns out they pull from tiny Conwy Valley microbreweries. Felt like I'd stumbled into the heart of the place. Next, The Cottage Loaf up the road – quirky spot named after, well, loaves, with wonky floors and a menu heavy on hearty grub. I squeezed in a rarebit because why not? Gooey cheddar on sourdough toast, spiked with ale and mustard. Proper comfort food, and at £7 a pop, it was a steal. Laughed to myself watching a couple next to me argue over the last chip – holidays bring out the kid in us all.

That first night, nursing a nightcap of local whisky back at the lodge, I had a quiet moment of reflection. Amid the clatter of pans and pub chatter, it hit me: sometimes the best holidays aren't about ticking off landmarks, but savouring these simple, food-fuelled moments that stick with you. Alpine Lodge wasn't just a base; it was the perfect spot to let the tastes of Llandudno unfold. By bedtime, belly full and mishaps forgotten, I was already plotting tomorrow's market raid. What a start.