I’ll never forget the drive to The Harrington Lodge in Pembrokeshire last autumn – that golden stretch of late September when the leaves are just starting to crisp up and the air has that proper Welsh bite to it. We’d piled into the car from Narberth, only a short hop away, but I managed to cock it up royally by taking a wrong turn onto a narrow lane that dead-ended at a muddy farm gate. “Brilliant, Dave,” I muttered to myself, reversing with the enthusiasm of a learner driver while my other half stifled giggles. Fifteen minutes later, covered in a light dusting of hedge clippings, we finally trundled up the drive to this cracking little lodge, and blimey, the seasonal magic hit us like a warm jumper on a chilly evening.

Pulling up, the first thing that struck me was how autumn had dressed the place up like a postcard from the Pembrokeshire Coast National Park. The lodge sits in a cosy nook near Narberth, surrounded by those rolling fields that turn every shade of amber and rust this time of year. Golden ferns fringed the garden, and the oaks nearby were shedding leaves in a lazy confetti shower – proper crunchy underfoot as we stepped out. It was that perfect cusp-of-autumn afternoon, about 14 degrees with a breeze whispering promises of woodsmoke, and the low sun slanting across the stone walls made everything glow. No summer hordes here; just us, the lodge, and the quiet hum of harvest time.

We unlocked the door – dead easy with the key safe – and wandered into this absolute gem of a place. It’s one of those dog-friendly cottages that feels like a hug, with low beams, a wood-burning stove already stocked with kindling (cheers to that), and a kitchen that’s kitted out for proper home comforts. First impressions? Spot on. The living room windows framed views of the autumnal countryside, all misty valleys and distant hedgerows heavy with blackberries. I nipped out to pick a handful straight away – tart as anything, but slathered on fresh bread from the nearby farm shop, they were pure seasonal nectar. Laughing about my earlier navigational disaster, we cracked open a bottle of local cider, toasting the fact that autumn means no queue for the best bits.

Stepping onto the patio was when the season really wrapped its arms around us. The hot tub – oh yes, it’s got one – steamed gently in the cooling air, bubbles rising like they were plotting a cosy rebellion against the dropping temps. We hopped in as dusk fell, the sky bruising to that deep purple only Welsh autumn can muster, with stars popping out early over the fields. It was pure bliss, the water thawing out the drive’s mishap-induced grumps, and the crisp air nipping at our noses while steam curled up like dragon breath. Nearby, I could hear the faint lowing of cattle heading back to barns – harvest vibes everywhere, no tractors roaring like in summer.

That first evening, as we lit the stove and watched flames dance (nothing beats the smell of applewood in autumn), I had a proper moment of reflection. Sat there with a mug of tea, listening to the wind rustle the leaves outside, I realised how this time of year strips things back. No frantic beach days or crowded paths; just space to breathe, to notice the way the light fades slow and gold over Pembrokeshire’s hills. The Harrington Lodge amplified it all – its snug nooks perfect for rainy spells (we dodged a light shower the next morning), and that sense of being tucked away from the world. It made me grateful for ditching the city rush; sometimes you need a wrong turn to land somewhere right.

Our three days blurred into autumnal heaven from there, but that arrival sealed it. If you’re after a Pembrokeshire getaway where the season steals the show, this lodge is your spot – mishaps and all.