I finally made it to that cosy 3 Bed Lodge in King's Lynn after a bit of a faff on the A149 – nothing major, just a cheeky wrong turn near Hunstanton that had me looping back with the sat-nav tutting at me like a disappointed nan. It was mid-autumn, you see, that golden shoulder season in Norfolk when the fens glow under crisp blue skies and the air nips just enough to make you glad for a proper coat. I'd booked this three-day jaunt to shake off the summer slog, and pulling up to the lodge on that leafy lane felt like stepping into a postcard from the Broads' less showy cousin.

The lodge itself is one of those unpretentious gems – a sturdy detached number with a gravel drive that crunched under my tyres like fresh toast. As I hauled my weekend bag out of the car, the first thing that hit me was the seasonal magic: leaves in every shade of amber and rust carpeting the garden, swirling in a gentle breeze off the Wash. Norfolk in October is pure poetry – not the drenched misery of winter, nor the heaving crowds of summer, but this perfect hush where nature's winding down and you're the only one invited to the party. The owners had left a cheeky welcome basket on the kitchen table: local apple juice (tart as a crab, straight from the orchards), a slab of Norfolk honey, and flapjacks that tasted like they'd been baked by someone's gran that morning. I chuckled to myself, thinking how I'd probably demolished half of it before even unpacking.

First impressions? Spot on. The place sleeps six comfy, with three bedrooms that scream "kick back and relax" – think plush quilts piled high against the chill, and windows framing views of the lodge's private garden, where dew-kissed shrubs rustled like they were whispering secrets. I dumped my stuff in the master, with its en-suite that had a shower hot enough to steam away any lingering road rage. Downstairs, the open-plan lounge-kitchen was the heart of it: woodburner begging for a log (I got that going pronto, flames dancing like they were auditioning for a folk tale), and a sofa that swallowed you whole. Outside, the patio was leaf-strewn and sheltered, ideal for a cuppa while watching the light fade over the fens – that flat, vast Norfolk landscape turning misty as the sun dipped, painting everything in soft ochres.

We – me, my mate Dave, and his two lads – arrived bang on golden hour, and the season shaped every minute. No battling Bank Holiday traffic; just us, the rustle of wind in the reed beds nearby, and the faint cry of Brent geese heading south. I nipped out for a mooch around Gaywood, not five minutes down the road – picked up pasties from the local bakery, still warm, with that proper Norfolk pastry snap. Back at the lodge, we cracked them open on the patio as the temperature dropped, the air thick with woodsmoke from neighbouring chimneys. Dave's boys were in raptures over the garden's "autumn treasure hunt" – conkers and sycamore helicopters galore, which had me reflecting on my own childhood scrabbling about in similar spots. Funny how a place like this pulls you back, isn't it? Makes you pause amid the leaf-choked gutters and think, "Blimey, when did I last just... breathe?"

That first evening, as twilight proper set in – Norfolk's big skies turning inky with stars pricking through early – we lit the woodburner and cracked open a bottle of Adnams. The lodge wrapped around us like a favourite jumper, all the better for the season's embrace: cooler nights begging for blankets, days crisp enough for bracing walks along the nearby river path, where blackberries still clung stubborn to the hedges. No grand adventures planned yet, but those initial hours? Pure, unfiltered Norfolk bliss. If autumn had a bolthole, this 3 Bed Lodge is it – and I was already plotting a return before the embers died.