I’ll never forget the drive down to Bude in mid-October, the leaves turning that gorgeous rusty orange along the A30, with a proper Cornish drizzle smattering the windscreen like it was auditioning for a moody seaside postcard. It was my first solo-ish holiday in ages – just me, my scruffy border collie Pippa, and a three-day escape to Mullion 2 Spa (Pet) – and I was buzzing with that autumnal anticipation, you know, when the air smells like wet earth and pasties. But typical me, about 20 miles out, I had a right faff with the sat-nav; it decided to reroute me through some narrow lane that felt more like a goat track, complete with a rogue pheasant eyeing me up like I’d nicked its dinner. Fifteen minutes of mild swearing later, and I was back on track, laughing at myself for thinking Cornwall would let me arrive without a cheeky hiccup.

Pulling up to Mullion 2 just as the late afternoon light was fading into that soft, hazy glow – proper autumn magic – I felt the season’s embrace straight away. Bude’s cliffs loomed nearby, their edges softened by the mist rolling in from the Atlantic, and the air had that crisp bite that makes you pull your coat a bit tighter. The cottage itself is tucked into a quiet spot, pet-friendly heaven with a little garden that Pippa immediately claimed as her throne, sniffing every damp blade of grass like she’d discovered buried treasure. Unlocking the door (keys left in the lockbox, bless the hosts), I stepped into this cosy haven that screamed “winter’s coming, but we’ve got you sorted.” The open-plan living area was all warm neutrals and plush sofas, with a wood burner already stacked and ready – I could practically hear it whispering promises of evenings to come.

First impressions? Blown away. The kitchen was a dream for a lazy autumn break: gleaming hob, a fridge stocked with local milk (proper creamy stuff, none of your watery nonsense), and those little touches like tea towels with crab motifs that made me chuckle. But the real star – oh lord, the spa room. Down a few steps, there it was: a private hot tub bubbling away under a covered terrace, steam rising into the chilly air like a personal fog machine. With October’s temperatures dipping to single figures, slipping into that warm bliss after the drive felt like cheating winter itself. Pippa watched from her bed, jealous but sensible enough to stay dry. I topped it off with a cuppa from the provided mugs, gazing out at the garden where golden leaves were swirling in the breeze – seasonal perfection, no filter needed.

Wandering the immediate grounds that first evening, the autumn influence was everywhere. The paths around were carpeted in fallen leaves, crunching underfoot, and the sea’s distant roar from Bude’s Summerleaze Beach (a mere stroll away) mixed with the rustle of wind in the hedges. No summer crowds, just that peaceful hush you only get when Cornwall shrugs off the tourists. I nipped to a nearby farm shop – think pasties still warm from the oven, clotted cream fudge that tasted like childhood – and stocked up, the chill making everything taste better, more comforting. Back at the cottage, firing up the hot tub again as dusk fell, I had one of those gentle moments of reflection: here I was, mid-forties, dog at my feet, no deadlines, just the simple joy of a place that wrapped you up against the encroaching cold. Why don’t I do this more often? Pippa tilted her head as if agreeing.

That first night, tucked under the fluffy duvet in the master bedroom (en-suite with a rainfall shower that rinsed away the road dust), I slept like a log to the sound of rain pattering on the conservatory roof. October shaped every bit of it – the mellow light filtering through the windows at dawn, the way the hot tub turned a grey afternoon into spa nirvana, the earthy scents that made Pippa’s walks pure delight. Arrival at Mullion 2 wasn’t just checking in; it was stepping into autumn’s best-kept Cornish secret, mishap and all. Can’t wait to return when the frosts really bite.