I’ll never forget the drive to Holkham last autumn – leaves turning that glorious coppery gold across the Norfolk lanes, but oh, what a comedy of errors to start. We’d set off from Cambridge in high spirits, me humming along to the radio, hubby navigating on his phone. Then, halfway there, the sat-nav decided to throw a wobbly and sent us down a narrow farm track that promptly turned into a mud bath after a sneaky overnight shower. Cue 20 minutes of us giggling like idiots, reversing through puddles while pheasants scarpered in every direction. Proper Norfolk welcome, that was – a reminder that autumn here doesn’t mess about with slick city driving.

By the time we pulled up, the anticipation had me buzzing. The estate’s vast 25,000 acres stretched out like a painting, all crisp air and that earthy scent of fallen leaves. Our ground-floor apartment was a belter of a find – cosy luxury for just the two of us, pet-friendly too (though we’d left the dog at home this time). Stepping inside, it felt like slipping into a warm hug: tasteful decor, everything spot-on for a romantic getaway. And that suntrap courtyard? Even in October’s mellow light, it caught the rays perfectly, turning afternoon tea into something magical.

First impressions? Spot-on. We dumped the bags and wandered straight out, the estate’s landscape gardens alive with the season’s drama. Autumn’s palette everywhere – russet ferns by the calming lake, where mallards bobbed about serenely. A short stroll took us to the deer park, and there they were: fallow deer grazing amid the bracken, their coats glowing in the slanting sun. It was like stepping into a Constable sketch, but with the added thrill of them not giving two hoots about us humans pottering by.

The time of year shaped every minute, really. Mornings started misty, the estate wrapped in that soft, golden fog that lifts to reveal pine needles crunching underfoot. We’d breakfast in the apartment, then explore the Holkham Beach path – just a brisk walk away. The North Sea crashed with that bracing autumn vigour, waves whipping up foam while marram grass bent in the wind. No summer crowds, just us and the elements; we wrapped up in scarves, faces tingling from the chill, but alive with it. One afternoon, we picnicked by the lake – cheese ploughman’s from the nearby farm shop, apples crisp as you like – watching leaves drift down like confetti. Pure poetry.

Evenings were for cosying in, the courtyard’s glowy lanterns flickering as dusk fell early. We’d crack open a bottle of Norfolk red, reflecting on how this season strips things back to what matters: good company, nature’s show. I caught myself thinking, mid-sip, how often life rushes by – but here, autumn slowed us right down, forcing a gentle pause. A touch of self-indulgence, maybe, but who’s complaining?

By week’s end, we were smitten. Norfolk’s coast in autumn? It’s not just a holiday; it’s a love letter to letting go. If you’re after that, pack your wellies and go.