I’ll never forget the drive to Lodge 11 in Newport, Wales – a proper autumn jaunt that had me grinning through the windscreen wipers. It was mid-October, you see, that sweet spot where the Pembrokeshire coast turns into a riot of rusty reds and golds, but the weather’s still got that cheeky Welsh bite. I’d set off from the motorway in the drizzle, radio blasting some cracking indie tunes, dreaming of cosy cottage vibes. Then, classic me, about ten miles out, I took a wrong turn onto a narrow lane that dead-ended at a muddy farm track. Splat – the car’s front wheel dipped into a puddle the size of a small pond, spraying muck everywhere. Laughable now, but I was there faffing with leaves stuck to the hubcap, swearing under my breath while a herd of sheep watched on like judgmental neighbours. Fifteen minutes later, I was back on track, clothes splattered, but buzzing with that holiday anticipation.

Pulling up to Lodge 11 just as the late afternoon light was fading – proper golden hour, even through the clouds – felt like stumbling into a hug from an old mate. Tucked in a quiet spot on the edge of Newport, this dog-friendly lodge is the sort of place that whispers “relax” before you’ve even unpacked. It’s one of those modern-rustic numbers, low-slung with a pitched roof, surrounded by hedges heavy with autumn berries. The season had painted everything in moody magic: leaves crunching underfoot in shades of copper and amber, the air crisp enough to pink your cheeks but not so brutal you’re battened down indoors. I grabbed my bags, the wind whipping up a few stray gusts off the nearby coast, and let myself in with the key safe code. First whiff? That heavenly mix of fresh linen and woodsmoke from someone’s nearby fire – pure autumn nectar.

Stepping inside, I was chuffed to bits. The open-plan living space is compact but spot-on for a solo or couple’s getaway, with a plush sofa begging you to flop down, and a wood burner already stocked with kindling. I flicked the switch on the heating – it hummed to life like a contented cat – and cracked open the bifold doors to the private hot tub patio. Blimey, what a view! Overlooking fields that rolled down towards Newport’s fringes, all blurred in that soft, misty haze typical of an October evening. The hot tub was steaming invitingly, bubbles churning against the chill, and I couldn’t resist a quick dip right away. Stripping down in the nippy air (brr!), I sank in, the heat seeping into my bones while the leaves swirled overhead like confetti from a woodland party. A magpie eyed me suspiciously from the fence – probably wondering why this daft human was marinating in his garden.

First impressions? Lodge 11 nails that instant “home away from home” feel, amplified by the season’s cosy embrace. The kitchen’s kitted out brilliantly – shiny hob, proper coffee machine ( lifesaver for bleary mornings) – and I rustled up a cuppa while eyeing the welcome pack: local biscuits, milk, and a cheeky bottle of Welsh gin. Sat there as dusk fell, the sky bruising to purples and oranges, I felt a proper pang of self-reflection. Work’s been manic lately, deadlines piling up like those sodden leaves outside, and here I was, miles from the grind, with nothing but the rustle of wind in the oaks and the distant bleat of lambs. It hit me: sometimes you need this autumnal reset, that quiet nudge from nature saying, “Slow down, you numpty.”

Evening proper kicked off with a wander into Newport’s heart, just a short stroll away. The high street was alive in that subdued October way – twinkly lights strung early for half-term, pubs spilling out with locals nursing pints against the gathering dark. I ducked into a chippy for battered cod and mushy peas, the vinegar tang cutting through the damp air, then ambled back as stars pricked the clearing sky. Back at the lodge, I lit the wood burner – flames dancing like they were auditioning for a fairy tale – and sprawled with a book, the hot tub calling for round two under the moonlight.

That first evening set the tone: Lodge 11 in autumnal Newport is pure bliss, where the season wraps you in its crunchy, misty charm, turning a simple arrival into something restorative. Can’t wait to go back – next time, mind, I’ll pack wellies for those farm-track detours.