I’ll never forget the drive up to Buxton last autumn – the Peak District was putting on its annual show of fiery reds and golds, turning every bend into a postcard. I’d set off from Manchester full of that holiday buzz, imagining cosy evenings by the fire after bracing walks, but about halfway there, disaster struck. A rogue sheep decided my windscreen was its personal scratching post, leaving a muddy smear and me pulling over in hysterics, laughing at how daft I must’ve looked faffing with wet wipes. Typical me, turning a scenic drive into a farmyard farce, but it only added to the anticipation – by the time I crested the hills into Buxton, I was proper gagging for that first glimpse of the place.

Pulling up to this cracking first-floor apartment right in the town centre felt like striking gold. I couldn’t wait to chuck my bags down and fling open the French doors to the Juliet balcony – oh, the views! The Pavilion Gardens stretched out below, all ablaze with autumn leaves swirling in the crisp breeze, and that fresh Derbyshire air hit like a tonic after the car chaos. It’s got this open-plan vibe that’s perfect for kicking back, with a smart telly for rainy afternoons (and trust me, there were a few) and even EV charging downstairs if you’re going green like I tried to be.

Autumn shaped every bit of this trip, from the morning mists rolling over the hills to the way the low sun turned everything golden. First morning, I wandered down to the gardens – free entry, what a treat – and crunched through fallen leaves underfoot, sipping a takeaway coffee from one of the Pavilion cafés. It was magical, that seasonal hush, with families kicking conkers and the air smelling of damp earth and woodsmoke. I even caught the tail end of the Buxton Opera House season; nabbed tickets for a matinee of some light opera, cosy inside as the wind whipped up outside. Perfect timing, really – no summer crowds, just that mellow autumn intimacy.

Ventured out to Solomon’s Temple, just a short stroll away up Grin Low Hill. The woods were a riot of copper and orange, and climbing those steps felt like stepping into a fairy tale, with panoramic views over Buxton’s rooftops glowing in the slanting light. I packed a flask of soup and sat there reflecting on how I never make enough time for this at home – always rushing about, missing the simple joy of seasons changing. Felt a proper daft lump in my throat, watching leaves drift like confetti.

Evenings were bliss: cooking up a storm in the open kitchen – roast veg and pies, natch, for that autumn comfort – then balcony time with a mug of tea, watching twilight settle and the town lights flicker on. One night, a gentle frost dusted everything, turning the air sparkly crisp. No big plans, just pottering to the local market for artisan bread and cheese, or a pint in a nearby pub where the fire crackled and locals chatted about the harvest.

It was one of those holidays that sneaks up and recharges you proper. Autumn in Buxton, from that mishap of a journey to the heartfelt balcony sunsets, reminded me why I love getting away here. If you’re after a seasonal escape that feels like a warm hug from the countryside, this corner of Derbyshire in leaf-peeping time is unbeatable. Can’t wait to go back.