I finally made it to Llandudno after a bit of a faff on the train from Manchester—some cheeky signal failure meant we sat in a tunnel for half an hour, and I ended up sharing my crisps with a bewildered pensioner who thought it was the end of days. But as the coast came into view, all that melted away. I'd booked Summertime Lodge, a cosy little detached lodge just a short hop from the centre, and from the moment I stepped off at Llandudno station, I was buzzing for a three-day Welsh escape focused on proper leg-stretching walks and whatever the weather threw at me.

The lodge itself is a gem—tucked away in a quiet spot near Abergele, but close enough to Llandudno's buzz that I could wander in under half an hour. I arrived mid-afternoon on a day that started with blue skies mocking my raincoat, dumped my bags in the cute porch (complete with a cheeky gnome that looked like it judged my dishevelled state), and cracked on with first impressions over a cuppa. The place screams "holiday vibes"—compact but comfy, with a sunny patio begging for al fresco brekkies and big windows framing the Conwy countryside. No faffing about with check-ins; the key safe made it seamless, and inside, it was all pine beams, fluffy towels, and a kitchen stocked with the essentials. I chuckled to myself picturing posh city mates back home turning their noses up at the slightly retro vibe, but honestly, it's spot on for switching off.

Day one proper kicked off with the Great Orme headland calling my name—Llandudno's massive limestone beast right on the doorstep. Weather was playing nice at first: bright and breezy as I trudged up from the West Shore, past the sweeping sands where families were building epic castles. The incline had me puffing like an old steam train, but the views? Bloody stunning. Sea on one side, Snowdonia's hazy peaks on the other. I nipped into the visitor centre for a quick history hit—wild goats roaming free, ancient tramway vibes—and felt like a proper explorer. But oh, the British weather, that fickle friend, decided to gatecrash. By the summit, clouds rolled in thicker than my nan's fruitcake, turning the panorama into a misty soup. Plans for a full clifftop circuit? Scrubbed. Instead, I hunkered down in the café for a welsh rarebit that hit the spot, laughing at how I'd packed factor 50 and ended up needing a woolly hat.

Next morning, undeterred, I aimed for the North Shore promenade—a flat, easy three-miler along the pier and grand Victorian hotels, dodging candy floss stalls and buskers belting out "Delilah". Sun was out again, glinting off the Irish Sea, and I proper lost myself in people-watching: hen dos in feather boas, dogs chasing waves, the lot. But halfway, the sky bruised over, and hail—actual hail!—pinged off my hood like pea shooter ammo. Hilarious in hindsight, but I scarpered into the pier's arcade, pretending to be a pro at 2p machines while the downpour raged. Emerging to a rainbow arching over the bay felt like a reward, and I looped back via Happy Valley, that lush park with its floral clocks and bandstand, now steaming in the sun.

By day three, the pattern was set: weather roulette dictating detours. Aiming for the Little Orme, I got lashed by sideways rain en route, so pivoted to the sheltered Orme Road paths—gentle ups and downs with wildflower meadows and bird calls that drowned out my soggy socks squelching. First impressions of Summertime Lodge deepened with every return: drying off in the lounge, kettle on, feet up on the surprisingly comfy sofa. It's the perfect base for this—proximity means no car needed, just lace up and go.

Looking back over those sodden hikes, I had a quiet moment realising how these chaotic weather whims make the best stories. No Instagram-perfect snaps, just me, the elements, and a lodge that felt like home. Llandudno's walks had me hooked—can't wait for round two, come rain or shine.