I finally made it to Aldeburgh after a bit of a faff on the A12 – nothing major, just me spilling half my flask of tea all over the passenger seat somewhere near Woodbridge, turning my lap into a soggy mess. Typical me, innit? But hey, it was early autumn, that golden shoulder season in Suffolk when the crowds have thinned out and the air’s got that crisp, apple-scented bite that makes everything feel alive. I’d booked the 7 Bed Lodge in Aldeburgh for a quick three-day getaway, figuring a massive place like that would be perfect for me, the dogs, and a mate who tagged along last minute. Little did I know how the season would wrap the whole arrival in this perfect, mellow magic.

Pulling up to the lodge just as the sun dipped low over the reed beds, I was gobsmacked by how Suffolk’s autumnal glow made it look like something out of a postcard. The property sits tucked away in that quintessentially English spot – close enough to hear the North Sea whispering against the shingle beach, but private, with its own garden sloping gently towards the marshes. Late September light filtered through the turning leaves, painting the flint walls in warm amber hues, and the air hummed with the faint, salty tang of the estuary mixed with damp earth. It’s that time of year when summer’s heat has bowed out gracefully, leaving behind dewy mornings and evenings that beg for a woolly jumper. No sweaty hikers clogging the paths, just us and the odd dog-walker savouring the quiet.

Stepping inside for the first impressions, the lodge hit me like a cosy hug. Seven bedrooms? Blimey, it’s built for a full-on family reunion, but for us two and the mutts, it felt like our own private manor. The open-plan kitchen-diner sprawls out with those big sash windows framing views of the Scallop sculpture glinting on the beach – Maggi Hambling’s shiny tribute to Benjamin Britten, catching the fading light like a beacon. I dumped the bags and cracked open a window; the breeze carried the distant cry of curlews from the Alde estuary, a sound that’s pure Suffolk in autumn, when the birds are gathering for their big migration. The place smelled of fresh linen and polished oak, with a wood-burning stove already laid with kindling – absolute godsend as the evenings chill down quick this time of year.

We wandered the garden first, boots crunching on fallen leaves that carpeted the lawn in reds and golds. Blackberries still clung to the hedges, fat and juicy from the mild September rains, so we picked a handful while the dogs chased shadows. It struck me then, in a quiet moment of reflection, how these seasonal shifts sneak up on you. Back home in London, autumn’s just puddles and rush-hour gloom, but here it’s a gentle reminder to slow down – to notice the way the light lingers on the horizon, turning the sea from grey to molten copper. I stood there, tea stains forgotten, feeling a bit daft for not escaping the city more often.

First evening, we ambled the five-minute stroll to the beach, where the shingle crunched underfoot and the tide was out, exposing those weird, worm-cast patterns etched by the autumn worms. No summer ice-cream queues at the huts; instead, a lone fisherman casting into the surf, his line arcing against the pink sky. Back at the lodge, we lit the stove – flames dancing as the room warmed – and cracked into a fish pie from the Aldeburgh smokery, washed down with a local Adnams ale. The season made it all so effortless: no battling heat, just that inviting nip urging you indoors to proper comfort.

By bedtime, snuggled in one of those massive beds with sea breezes rustling the curtains, I was already hooked. Autumn in Suffolk, via this cracking 7 Bed Lodge, turned arrival into pure bliss – a soft landing into nature’s winding-down rhythm. Can’t wait to see what the next days bring, but blimey, what a start.