For a sprawling seaside village at the western tip of Wales’ Llyn Peninsula with a year-round population of barely 600, Abersoch has always enjoyed an enviable gloss and gleam.

The beach huts on the magnificent Main Beach regularly sell for over £200,000, despite having no running water, electricity, fixtures and fittings.

The bumpy lane, which winds around the Benar Headland and glitters with the shiny chrome of multi-million-pound mansions, is now the most expensive road in Wales and has been dubbed ‘The Sandbanks of the North’.

Over recent years, the village has become popular as a second-home spot with Premier League footballers, Coronation Street stars, the Vimto and Muller yoghurt dynasties, adventurer Bear Grylls (who owns Lighthouse Island nearby), and many of the great and the good of Manchester, the Wirral and Liverpool.

But lately, even in this lovely place the sheen is fading.

Businesses are struggling. ‘For Sale’ signs are popping up. Vital community facilities are evaporating at an alarming rate – in the past few years the primary school, doctors’ surgery and main post office have all closed.

Last year, amid rumours of unpaid workers and ongoing disputes, construction stopped at Ty Gwyn, a 42-room, 18-apartment horseshoe-shaped monster perched sadly on Lon Pont Morgan and covered in flapping plastic.

And on top of all that, it seems Abersoch is now attracting a new class of holidaymaker which, locals insist, is changing it for the worse.

‘We’ve never had shoplifting before. Or needed security on the pubs and cafes in the season,’ the ladies behind the counter in Londis tell me. ‘But we do now.’

Willy Williams, whose family has been running the village garage for 80 years, warms to the theme. ‘We used to know everyone who came – they’d come for the summer. They were our friends. Part of the village. Now everything is changing, and not in a good way.’

Like many locals, Willy does not blame the village’s second-home owners, who own more than half the properties, or the 30,000 visitors each summer.

He blames Plaid Cymru, the Welsh nationalist party, which has dominated Gwynedd Council for decades. Along with Reform, Plaid is expected to dethrone Labour in the forthcoming Welsh Parliament elections, after 27 years.

‘They’re too controlling and getting out of hand. They don’t listen and they’re running the place into the ground,’ he says.

He also has plenty to say about some of Plaid’s increasingly nationalistic policies, such as insisting children in Gwynedd are taught in Welsh only, rather than bilingually.

‘Of course we want Welsh, but we want English too,’ says Willy’s son Guy. ‘When I was at school here, we all learned both, because English is a global language.’

Certain jobs, too, stipulate that employees must only speak Welsh. There was even talk of a local housing development where the properties were reserved for Welsh speakers.

But what’s really got pulses racing is Plaid’s clampdown on second-home owners, which came into force on September 1, 2024, and included a 250 per cent Council Tax hike – unless you can prove you let your property at last 180 days a year – increased Stamp Duty and the dreaded Article 4. This was the council’s planning directive that prevented anyone from letting a property as a holiday home without first seeking permission to change its use.

The idea was to protect locals from the scourge of second-home owners who have over 4,500 properties in Gwynedd to their name, pushing house prices up and forcing locals out of the market. But the measures have been a total disaster. The market has been flooded by owners who couldn’t afford the taxes or were caught by Article 4.

Prices have gone down by 30 per cent. Yet as Martin Lewthwaite, who has worked for Beresford Adams estate agents for 52 years, points out: ‘If you knock 30 per cent off a million-pound house, it doesn’t make it any more affordable to locals.’

Many of Abersoch’s second homes are owned by locals. And even those who aren’t owners rely on tourists for their livelihood. ‘Without them, there would be nothing. They are the village. We live off the holidaymakers,’ says Willy. So last year, a group of locals raised £100,000, took the council to court and reversed Article 4.

But no one is celebrating. Partly, because they think Plaid will be back with another unwanted scheme as soon as they can. But also because the damage has been done. Buyers are down 50 per cent. Market confidence has been shattered, and the effects are evident.

There are half-finished building jobs all over and, according to Independent Councillor John Brynmor Hughes, planning applications have slowed to a dribble. ‘I used to sit with my morning coffee and watch the [builders’] vans coming into the village in the mornings like a train,’ he says. ‘Well, not anymore.’

Which has also had a knock-on effect at the chippy, cafes and shops. ‘You can definitely see the difference,’ says Nigel Jones, who owns the local Londis.

Meanwhile, in a desperate bid to hit the 180 days to avoid that massive council tax hike, landlords are offering rooms at rock-bottom prices on Airbnb.

But as John Walters, 76, who has lived here for 14 years, observes, they ‘buy their dinner at Asda – they don’t eat out’. ‘The pubs used to be 20 deep at closing time. Now the place is deserted by 8pm,’ adds Willy.

Many blame Plaid and think they’re responsible for increased intolerance. ‘My kids have experienced terrible racism at school here,’ says Jude, who is English but has lived here for 20 years. ‘The power’s gone to their head,’ says a man in Londis who doesn’t want to be named.

Others are hopping mad with the Welsh Labour Party.

Everyone loathes Sir Keir Starmer and brands him everything from ‘useless,’ to ‘a laughing stock’, while the owner of the Abersoch Boatyard boutique makes his views clear with a note in the window – ‘No wet dogs or Rachel Reeves, thank you’.

Meanwhile, the Greens are dismissed as ‘woke idiots’, and the Conservatives don’t get much of a look in. ‘I like the Tories, but that’s a wasted vote here,’ says Willy. Which is a shame for Aled Davies, the sole candidate who answered my request to chat and met me after driving two-and-a-half hours from his farm on the Shropshire border. Plaid’s only supporters here are seemingly Anna Jones, a former headmistress in her 80s, and three brilliantly feisty former school friends in their 20s.

All of which means that pretty much everyone I meet tells me that they’re going to vote Reform.

‘I’m not a fan of [Nigel] Farage, but I’m voting for him,’ says Nigel. It’s a sentiment shared by many I meet. Willy just wants ‘someone who isn’t only focused on the south [of Wales] and understands our community and doesn’t meddle’. It was his grandpa William who bought half the village, including the lumpy headline that is now millionaires’ row, and began the tourist boom.

Anna Jones remembers her family moving into the barn and giving up their farmhouse for holidaymakers when she was little.

‘I hated it but, as my mum said, it paid for everything,’ she says.

As we sit in her lovely kitchen in the middle of the village, she lists all the places that have closed over the years as the village has emptied out – the hairdresser, three bakeries, a greengrocer, ‘proper’ clothes shops, the chapel and the surgery.

The latter was a big blow. Not least because the nearest A&E hospital is Ysbyty Gwynedd in Bangor, 35 miles away.

Which isn’t great if you’re having a stroke. And meant that when Guy Williams’ wife was having their second baby last year, it took so long for the ambulance to arrive he delivered the baby himself. Even the local fishing fleet has been reduced to Owi Lloyd Jones, 65, a lobster and crab fisherman who wrestles with the effects of overfishing and supplements his business by providing moorings, tinkering with boats and helping out Bear Grylls and his family.

But it was the school closure back in 2022 that really threw the community. ‘They didn’t listen to us, however many petitions we signed,’ says a chap called Wyn. ‘But we’re lucky here. If you want to see how bad things can get, go and visit Nefyn and Pwllheli down the road.’

So I do, and Pwllheli is quite a shock. The houses are festooned with For Sale signs, and the streets peppered by empty shops. ‘This used to be a vibrant place, but the rates have gone up until all the proper shops are priced out,’ says a lady working in the Becws Gwalia bakery. ‘Now it’s all vape shops and nail bars.’

It is still a pretty town, with some charming old buildings – particularly Capel Salem, the enormous Grade II former Presbyterian chapel being restored by celebrity potter Keith Brymer Jones and his partner Marj Hogarth. ‘That’s our bright spot of hope right now,’ says Gwen.

But even on a sunny day, it feels desolate – and the huge marina looks worryingly silted up.

‘They refuse to develop it properly and join it to the town in case our Welshness is diluted,’ says Wyn Jones, 62. ‘But soon there won’t be anything left.’ Here, houses are cheaper – a three-bedroom terrace is between £150,000 and £200,000. But when I stop a man in his late 20s walking his toddler and ask if he owns his own home, he laughs in my face.

‘I grew up here but I will never, ever be able to afford to buy here,’ he says, despite both he and his wife working – she in a local café, he as a milk tanker driver. Though this week they’ve had good news – after nine years on the waiting list, they’re finally moving to social housing near Bangor.

Back in Abersoch, I take a stroll down from my hotel to look at a building project on the waters’ edge at the southern end of the village with amazing views towards Snowdonia. It is a huge glass and slate leviathan, for which 28,000 tons of rock had to be removed from a cliff, supposedly protected as an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty.

Oddly, they didn’t seem to have any problem securing planning permission. None of the building projects here have struggled on that front, and I’m told of one owner who, so far, has spent more than £9million buying and rebuilding a property on the headland – but has only visited once.

‘But he used local builders and tradesmen,’ says the local. ‘So that kept us going for a bit!’

Blimey. After two days in this exquisitely beautiful place, I’ve learned a few things about community, compromise and the despair at politicians.

Oh yes, and a teeny bit of Welsh, too. But sadly, most of all, Ar Werth – For Sale.