I’ll never forget the drive to Saundersfoot last autumn – that crisp October weekend when the leaves were turning all fiery shades of orange and red, carpeting the Pembrokeshire roads like a rumpled patchwork quilt. Me and my mate Dave piled into the car from Carmarthen, about 20 minutes up the A478, with the heater blasting against the chill that had properly set in. The journey was a dream, really – winding past fields of sheep hunkered down against the wind, the sea peeking out now and then like a shy promise. But of course, I managed a classic me-mishap: about five miles out, I took a wrong turn onto a narrow lane, convinced it was a shortcut. Ended up reversing into a puddle the size of a small pond, soaking the wheels and giving us both a good laugh as mud splattered up like we’d hit a Jackson Pollock painting.

Pulling up to Sonnet 3 just as the afternoon light was fading into that golden haze, I felt that proper holiday buzz kick in. It’s one of those quaint terraced cottages right in the heart of Saundersfoot, the kind you imagine when you think of Welsh seaside escapes – whitewashed front, flower baskets still blooming defiantly despite the season’s nip. The autumn air carried that briny tang from the harbour, mixed with woodsmoke from nearby chimneys, and the faint crunch of leaves underfoot as we hauled our bags up the steps. Unlocking the door (smooth as, no faffing with keys in the modern lockbox), we stepped into this cosy haven that screamed “cosy night in”. The open-plan living area was all low beams and plush sofas piled with cushions, a wood-burning stove begging to be lit against the evening chill. I could already picture us toasting marshmallows later, pretending we’re in some Enid Blyton tale.

First impressions? Spot on for autumnal bliss. The kitchen was a dream – granite worktops gleaming, a proper Aga-style cooker that whispered promises of hearty stews, and a window overlooking the quiet street where locals ambled past with dogs on leads, scarves flapping. We dumped our stuff and cracked open the complimentary tea and biccies (cheers, Snaptrip), brewing up while the sun dipped low over the bay. Stepping out onto the small patio – which catches the morning sun even in October, apparently – we gazed at the harbour just a stone’s throw away. Saundersfoot’s beach stretched out below, its sands turned a dusky gold in the fading light, waves lapping lazily under a sky streaked with pink. No summer crowds here; just a handful of dog-walkers and the odd family building sandcastles before the tide nipped in. The seasonal shift made it magical – that fresh, bracing wind whipping off the sea, carrying the scent of salt and seaweed, while the hills behind glowed in their autumn finery.

We wandered down to the beach that first evening, coats zipped up tight, the crunch of shingle under boots a satisfying soundtrack. The tide was out, revealing rock pools glittering like jewels in the low light – perfect for poking about with wellies on, spotting crabs scuttling in the chill shallows. Back at the cottage, we got the stove going (Dave’s rubbish at kindling, bless him – took three goes and a singed sleeve for a chuckle), and settled in with fish and chips from the local spot down the road. Crispy batter, mushy peas steaming hot – pure comfort as the windows fogged up from the warmth inside clashing with the cool night air outside.

Sitting there, flames crackling, I had a quiet moment of reflection. Autumn in Saundersfoot at Sonnet 3 felt like the universe’s way of saying slow down. No frantic beach days or ice creams melting down your hand; just this gentle rhythm of sea and season, reminding me how sometimes the best holidays are the ones that wrap you up warm and make you breathe deeper. First impressions sealed it – we were hooked for the whole three days.