I’ll never forget the drive to Cedar Lodge in Somerset last autumn – a proper golden October weekend that turned what should’ve been a straightforward jaunt into a comedy of errors. I’d set off from Bristol early, leaves crunching underfoot like nature’s own applause as I hit the A38, but five minutes in, my sat-nav decided to throw a wobbly. “Recalculating,” it droned, just as a rogue pheasant shot across the road, forcing me to brake like a learner driver. Heart in mouth, I swerved, spilling my thermos of tea all over the passenger seat. Sod’s law, innit? But as the Mendip Hills loomed, draped in that fiery mix of amber and rust, I couldn’t stay miffed. Autumn in Somerset is pure magic – the air crisp enough to pink your cheeks, the hedgerows heavy with blackberries begging to be picked.

Pulling into Strawberryfield Park near Cheddar around midday, the season hit me full force. The site was a riot of colour, with the strawberry fields (long since picked, mind) now carpeted in fallen leaves swirling like confetti in the breeze. Cedar Lodge sat there waiting, a cosy wooden haven tucked among the trees, its exterior glowing warm against the slate-grey sky. I parked up, grabbed my weekend bag, and crunched across the gravel – every step releasing that earthy, damp scent that screams British autumn. Unlocking the door, I was hit by a waft of woodsmoke from the nearby communal fire pit; someone had got the jump on bonfire season.

Stepping inside, it felt like the lodge had been waiting just for me. The open-plan living space was bathed in soft light filtering through the large windows, framing views of the park’s woods turning scarlet and gold. Autumn sun does that – low and golden, painting everything with a nostalgic glow that makes you want to curl up with a book. The wood-burning stove was prepped with logs, begging to be lit against the evening chill, and the kitchenette gleamed with all the kit you’d need for a fry-up. I dumped my bags and brewed a cuppa, watching squirrels dart about outside, hoarding nuts like tiny paranoid bankers. It was hilariously busy out there – one cheeky sod even paused to stare me down through the glass, as if sizing up whether I’d nicked his stash.

First impressions? Blimey, it was spot on for the time of year. No blasting air-con nonsense in this weather; instead, the underfloor heating hummed gently, warding off the damp that creeps into your bones in Somerset’s misty Octobers. I wandered the decking – wraparound and sheltered – sipping my tea as the afternoon light faded, leaves drifting lazily onto the hot tub below. Speaking of which, that bubbling beauty was calling my name already, steam rising invitingly into the cool air. I could picture it: slipping in at dusk, surrounded by the woodland’s symphony of rustling branches and distant owl hoots, mulled cider in hand. Cheddar’s just a stone’s throw away, its cliffs shrouded in autumn fog that morning, but from the lodge, it felt a world apart – peaceful, unhurried.

As I settled in, unpacking a few local treats from the farm shop en route (Cheddar cheese, obviously, and some scrumped apples), I had a quiet moment of reflection. There I was, mid-forties, faffing about with a spilled thermos and a daft bird, yet here in this perfect pocket of Somerset, wrapped in autumn’s embrace, everything felt right. Life’s too short not to chase these simple joys – a crackling fire, a misty view, and the promise of pasties from the village tomorrow. Cedar Lodge didn’t just welcome me; it wrapped me up in the season’s arms, making my three days feel timeless. If you’re pondering a getaway, book it now – before winter steals the show.