MY week started with a wet weekend in Llandudno — and just kept on getting better.

Now I’ve heard people say “wet weekend in Llandudno” like it was a bad thing. They use the phrase as shorthand for “a dull, miserable time”. But they have obviously never been to North Wales’ premier resort in the rain. Nice place.

Honestly, you should go.

This is what my wife said as we walked along the promenade with our raincoats on and umbrella up: “I don’t know why we bother driving all that way to Devon every year, it’s a nightmare with the kids in the back. This is under two hours away and we can always come home if it gets too bad.”

If that’s not a reason to choose your holiday destination, I don’t know what is. So it looks like Llandudno next year.

As I’ve mentioned, fixing the venue for next summer’s week of hell wasn’t the high point. A catalogue from a PR firm representing classy shoemaker Oliver Sweeney landed on my desk, inviting me to look inside its glossy pages.

I scoffed at first, I did — why on earth did they send this to The Bolton News? Their PR guys have obviously not done their research.

But after leafing through its pages, the penny dropped. They had done their research, oh yes, and then some. In fact, they knew exactly what I wanted on my feet.

They somehow knew what I didn’t but now do — I must have trainers made from stingray skin.

Oliver Sweeney clearly employs psychic spies to infiltrate minds, or, at the very least, ninjas to look inside people’s wardrobes when they are making a brew downstairs.

Stingray skin shoes. Owning a pair is my new ambition in life. Not only will they look ace on, I feel I will in some way be getting revenge for Steve Irwin.

So a new holiday destination, a new ambition, and still the week improved, because it was the week my firstborn son, my little boy, started school.

He looked so cute in his uniform, I almost forgave him for the colic as a baby — three hours of non-stop screaming every night. Cheers son.

His face was a picture of wide-smile excitement on the morning of his first day. “Soon, you and mummy will be asking ME questions,” he said. He couldn’t wait to learn to read and write and play music and football with other kids. And after that momentous first day, I rushed home from work to find out what he knew.

He cried twice, got two new friends (but doesn’t know their names), the teacher is nice and wore pink, he had fish and salad for lunch and it was delicious, didn’t need a wee all day long, and learnt about the rain.

That might sound like a dull day to you. To me it sounded like a wet weekend in Llandudno.