I’ll never forget the drive to Bracelands Safari Tent 5 in the Forest of Dean—it was peak autumn, that golden October stretch when the leaves are doing their dramatic turn, and I was buzzing with excitement for a three-day getaway. Me and my mate Dave piled into the car from Gloucester, windows down, munching on pasties from a service station, with the radio blasting some proper cheesy 90s tunes. The Forest of Dean unfolded like a postcard: roads flanked by ancient oaks heavy with copper and crimson foliage, the air crisp enough to give your cheeks a rosy glow. About five miles in, disaster struck—or what passes for it on a lads’ trip. I’d packed a thermos of tea, but in my haste, I’d left the lid loose. Cue a sharp corner near Symonds Yat Rock, and hot Earl Grey sloshed all over Dave’s lap. “You absolute muppet!” he yelped, swerving like we were in a dodgy action flick. We pulled over in a layby carpeted with fallen leaves, laughing our heads off as he dabbed at his jeans with wet wipes. Classic me—always turning a scenic drive into a soggy sitcom moment.

By mid-afternoon, we rolled up to Bracelands, right in the heart of the forest near Broadwell. The safari tent loomed like something out of an Enid Blyton adventure, perched on a sturdy wooden deck amid a sea of rustling trees. Autumn had worked its magic here; the surrounding woods were a riot of amber and burnt orange, with sunlight filtering through in dappled shafts that made everything feel alive and enchanted. No concrete jungle this—it was pure woodland immersion, the kind where you half-expect a deer to photobomb your selfie. We parked on the gravel patch, unloaded our bags (Dave’s still faintly tea-scented), and stepped inside. The tent’s canvas walls billowed gently in the breeze, and the wooden floor creaked welcomingly underfoot. It was surprisingly cosy: a double bed piled high with quilts, a wood-burning stove already stocked with logs, and a little kitchenette with a hob for brewing up. Outside, a veranda overlooked a clearing where the bracken was turning that fiery red, and in the distance, you could hear the faint rustle of squirrels scampering through the leaf litter.

First impressions? Blimey, it was like the season had conspired to make it perfect. That autumn chill nipped at your fingers as you unzipped the door flap, urging you straight to the stove. We got a fire crackling in minutes—proper boy scout stuff—and the smoky scent mingled with the earthy dampness wafting in from the woods. Stepping out onto the deck, mug of tea in hand (lid firmly on this time), I just stood there, taking it in. The Forest of Dean in October is a sensory overload: the crunch of leaves underfoot as you wander the nearby paths, the low sun casting long shadows that dance across the tent’s khaki exterior, and that fresh, loamy smell that screams “proper countryside.” We spotted a couple of fallow deer grazing no more than a hundred yards away, their coats blending with the bracken—nature’s camouflage at its finest. It felt primal, you know? Like we’d time-travelled back to when this was all wild woodland, minus the smartphones.

As the light faded early—autumn’s cheeky trick, isn’t it?—we cracked open a couple of tins and grilled sausages on the portable BBQ, the flames flickering against the twilight. Mists rolled in from the valley, wrapping the tent in a soft, ethereal haze that muffled the world beyond. Sat there, wrapped in blankets, watching the stars prick through the canopy, I had one of those gentle moments of reflection. Life back home’s a whirlwind of deadlines and doom-scrolling, but here, in this canvas bubble amid the turning leaves, everything slowed. The season stripped it back—no beach barbecues or summer hikes, just the quiet beauty of decay and renewal. It made me realise how much I needed this: the rustle of wind in the beeches, the way the cold sharpens your senses, turning a simple arrival into something profoundly restorative. Dave caught me staring into the fire and ribbed, “Penny for ‘em, poet?” I just grinned—arriving at Bracelands Safari Tent 5 in autumn wasn’t just a holiday start; it was a seasonal reset button, and I was already hooked.