I’ll never forget the drive to Bramley Tall Trees near Glastonbury in Somerset last autumn – it was one of those crisp October weekends where the leaves were turning that perfect golden-orange, carpeting the lanes like a lazy confetti explosion. I’d set off from Bristol early, fancying a proper escape before the clocks went back, but true to form, I managed a classic me-mishap: about halfway there, I splurged on a “proper” pasty from a roadside van, only for it to fight back with a rogue onion that left me wiping tears and honking my horn like a deranged goose. Laughable now, but it had me arriving at the cottage just as the afternoon sun dipped low, painting the Mendip Hills in that soft, amber glow only early autumn can muster.

Pulling up to Bramley Tall Trees felt like stumbling into a hug from an old mate. Tucked away in a quiet spot on the edge of Glastonbury – no more than a stone’s throw from the town’s mystical vibes – it’s the sort of place that whispers “relax” before you’ve even unpacked. The cottage is all cosy charm: a thatched roof nodding to Somerset’s rural soul, surrounded by a garden that in October was a riot of rustling trees and fallen leaves perfect for crunching underfoot. I remember stepping out of the car, the air sharp with that earthy, damp scent of decaying foliage mixed with woodsmoke from a nearby chimney. It was chilly enough to make my cheeks pink, but not so biting you’d rush inside – just right for savouring the season’s shift.

First impressions? Bloody brilliant. The owners had left a welcome basket bursting with local treats: apple cider from a nearby orchard (Somerset does them like no one else, especially when the harvest is fresh), a slab of tangy Cheddar cheese, and some pumpkin scones that screamed autumn afternoon tea. I dumped my bags and headed straight for the garden, where tall trees – true to the name – swayed gently, their branches heavy with the last stubborn leaves. It was like the place had been waiting for this exact time of year; in summer it’d be all buzzing bees and sun-drenched loungers, but autumn turned it into a private woodland nook, the light filtering through in dappled patterns that made everything feel enchanted.

That first evening, as dusk crept in early – another cheeky autumn trick, isn’t it? – I lit the wood burner in the lounge. Crackling flames, a mug of tea steaming on the arm of a squashy armchair, and outside the window, Glastonbury Tor silhouetted against a sky streaked with pink and purple. It’s only a short stroll away, that iconic hill with its ancient tower, and in October’s mellow haze, it looked less like a tourist magnet and more like a gentle guardian, wrapped in swirling mist. I wandered down later for a mooch around the abbey ruins – free entry after hours, blissfully quiet – the air thick with the scent of wet stone and fallen apples from the orchards bordering the paths. A light drizzle started, turning the ground to mud that clung to my boots, but it just added to the magic; Somerset in autumn isn’t polished, it’s raw and real.

Sitting there on a mossy bench, watching leaves spiral down like nature’s own slow-motion fireworks, I had one of those quiet moments of self-reflection. Life back home had been a whirlwind of deadlines and noise, but here, with the season stripping everything back to essentials, I realised how much I’d missed this simplicity. No grand plans needed – just the cottage’s warmth pulling me back, the rustle of wind in the trees lulling me into proper downtime. Bramley Tall Trees didn’t just accommodate my three days; in that golden autumn embrace, it redefined them. If you’re chasing first impressions that stick, book it for the fall – you won’t regret it.