I’ll never forget the drive to Saundersfoot last autumn – leaves turning that gorgeous coppery gold all along the A477, the Pembrokeshire air already crisp enough to fog the windscreen. It was mid-October, that sweet spot where summer’s grip loosens but winter hasn’t properly barged in yet, and I was buzzing for a three-day getaway at the 2 Bed Lodge in Stepaside. Me, my other half, and a rucksack stuffed with thermals and optimism. Naturally, about five miles out, I managed to spill my builder’s tea right across the passenger footwell. “Classic me,” I laughed, mopping it up with a service station napkin while swearing under my breath. Insignificant really, but it set the tone – a proper British holiday start, innit?

Pulling up to the lodge just after lunch, the seasonal magic hit me first. Stepaside’s tucked in this wooded valley, and autumn had turned the surrounding hills into a patchwork quilt of rust and amber, with the odd splash of defiant green. The lodge itself sat there like a cosy hug – a proper wooden gem with a veranda overlooking the trees, smoke curling lazily from a neighbour’s chimney. No sprawling beachfront penthouse, just a smart two-bed setup perfect for a chilled escape, maybe 10 minutes’ drive from Saundersfoot’s sandy bay. I fumbled the key code (post-tea nerves), but once inside, blimey, it was spot on. Fresh linen on the beds, a telly bigger than my flat’s, and a kitchen kitted out with everything from cafetière to toaster. The wood-burning stove was already laid, begging for a match – autumn’s way of whispering “get cosy, lad”.

First impressions? Pure seasonal bliss. We dumped the bags and cracked open the sliding doors to the deck. The air smelled of damp earth and sea salt carried up from the coast, that bracing chill making every breath feel alive. Wisps of mist clung to the valley bottom, softening the edges of the world, while overhead the sky was that moody Welsh grey-blue, threatening drizzle but holding off just long enough for us to brew a cuppa and take it all in. It was quiet – no summer hordes, just the rustle of leaves and distant bleat of sheep. I plonked down on the bench, mug steaming, and thought, “This is why we do it – escaping the grind for proper nature therapy.”

Wandering out for a nose around Stepaside felt like stepping into an autumn postcard. The lane wound past the little Mill pond, ducks paddling through fallen leaves swirling on the water, and we crunched over paths thick with beech mast. Funny moment: I tried “foraging” a handful of blackberries from a bramble – overgrown and tart as anything, puckering my face like I’d sucked a lemon. “Urban forager, my arse,” I chuckled to Sarah, who was snapping pics on her phone. We didn’t venture far – just a gentle loop back via the Canary Loft trail, where the woods glowed in the slanting light, fungi sprouting like nature’s own Halloween decorations. The season made it magical; summer would’ve been too bright, too busy, but this golden hush was intimate, ours alone.

Back at the lodge by dusk, we lit that stove – flames dancing, casting flickering shadows on the pine walls. First night’s dinner was simple: local sausages from the Stepaside shop (autumn’s bounty means proper butcher fare), mashed spuds, and a bottle of red. Curled up on the sofa, listening to the wind pick up outside, I had one of those gentle moments of reflection. Life back home’s a whirlwind – deadlines, doom-scrolling, the lot. Here, with the October chill pressing against the windows and the fire’s warmth wrapping round us, it hit me: sometimes the best reset is doing bugger all but being present. No grand adventures planned yet, but that arrival, those first hours steeped in Pembrokeshire’s autumn glow? Already etched in. Can’t wait to see what the next days bring.