I’ll never forget the drive to Carabelle (Cow Shed 7) in Suffolk – a proper autumnal jaunt that started with me spilling my builder’s tea all over the passenger seat just past Ipswich. It was one of those crisp October mornings where the hedgerows were bursting with fiery reds and golds, and the A12 was mercifully free of weekend warriors. Three days away with my mate Dave, seeking a cosy bolt-hole near Woodbridge, and already I’d christened the car with a milky stain. Typical me, but it set the tone for a holiday shaped entirely by the season’s embrace – that golden, blustery hug of Suffolk in full autumn glory.

We trundled into the Suffolk Coastal District around midday, the satnav guiding us down narrow lanes flanked by ancient oaks shedding leaves like confetti. Carabelle’s nestled in a quiet spot just a stone’s throw from Woodbridge, part of a clutch of converted cow sheds that scream rural chic without trying too hard. Pulling up, the first impression hit like a warm gust: the thatched roof dusted with fallen leaves, the garden a riot of rustling copper beeches and tumbling ivy. October’s mellow light filtered through, turning everything soft and inviting, as if the place had been waiting just for us leaf-peepers.

Stepping inside was pure magic. The open-plan living space opened up like a hug from an old friend – beamed ceilings low enough to make you duck if you’re daft like Dave, who promptly clonked his head on a joist. “Cheers for the welcome,” he grumbled, rubbing his noggin, which had us in stitches straight away. But honestly, it was the seasonal vibe that stole the show. The wood-burning stove was already laid with kindling, begging to be lit against the chill that nips at Suffolk’s heels this time of year. We got it crackling in minutes, the flames dancing shadows on the exposed brick walls as rain pattered gently on the windows. Outside, the wind whipped up, sending more leaves skittering across the patio – a reminder that autumn here doesn’t mess about.

First impressions? Blissfully unpretentious. The kitchen was kitted out with all the essentials – a proper Aga humming away, perfect for rustling up a stew with local spuds and whatever we’d nab from Woodbridge’s market later. We dumped our bags and cracked open a couple of Adnams ales (Suffolk’s finest, naturally), toasting our good fortune. Peering out, the view was quintessential October Suffolk: misty fields rolling towards the Deben estuary, just a mile or so off, where the tide was turning under a sky bruised with clouds. No hordes of summer tourists, just us, the wind, and the earthy scent of damp leaves seeping through the cracks.

We ventured out for a quick potter around the immediate lanes that afternoon, boots crunching on fallen conkers and blackberries still clinging stubbornly to the brambles. The air was alive with that fresh, fungal tang – mushrooms popping up in the verges, perfect for a impromptu forage (though Dave’s “finds” looked suspiciously like toadstools). Back at the shed by dusk, we huddled by the fire, the orange glow mirroring the sunset bleeding across the horizon. It was then, supping tea from mismatched mugs, that I had a quiet moment of reflection. In the rush of London life, I’d forgotten how autumn strips things back – no distractions, just the rhythm of the seasons forcing you to slow down, breathe deep, and appreciate the simple joy of a cracking fire and good company.

That first afternoon cemented it: Carabelle in October is Suffolk at its soul-stirring best. The season wrapped us in its cosy melancholy, turning a humble cow shed into a haven of glowing hearths and whispering winds. If you’re after proper escapism, book it now – before winter claims the leaves.