I’ll never forget the drive up to Buxton last autumn – the leaves were turning that gorgeous coppery gold, carpeting the winding roads through the Peak District like nature’s own welcome mat. Me and the family piled into the car from Manchester, kids buzzing in the back with crisps and iPads, but about halfway there, disaster struck: a rogue pheasant decided to play chicken with our bumper. Heart in my mouth, I swerved just in time, but it left us all a bit shaken, laughing nervously about how the Peaks always throw in a wildlife surprise to keep you on your toes. Still, by the time we crested the hill into Buxton, the late October sun was dipping low, painting the historic spa town in this magical amber glow that made every mishap fade away.

Pulling up to our second-floor duplex apartment right in the centre of the action felt like stumbling into a proper treat. We’d been counting down the miles, imagining cosy nights in after days out in the chill, and the first impressions didn’t disappoint – spacious, elegant rooms with those lavish bedrooms and impressive en-suites that screamed luxury without trying too hard. The open-plan living area was a dream, framing cracking views over Buxton’s famous Crescent and the grand Palace Hotel, and upstairs, that fabulous rooftop terrace with its hot tub was calling our names. Autumn’s crisp edge made it all the more inviting; we dumped the bags in the entrance hall’s handy utility area and cracked open a bottle of fizz to toast our good fortune.

The season shaped every minute of our stay, turning what could’ve been a standard getaway into something properly special. Mornings started with frosty walks around the Pavilion Gardens, the air sharp and invigorating, leaves crunching underfoot as we wandered the Victorian paths, steam rising from the lake where ducks paddled unperturbed. Buxton’s Pavilion is a gem in autumn – we caught a folk music matinee one day, huddled in woollies, sipping hot chocolate from the café, the music warming us from the inside out. The cooler weather meant fewer crowds, so we had the place almost to ourselves, which felt like a sneaky bonus after summer’s bustle.

Afternoons were for gentle rambles up to Poole’s Cavern, just a short stroll away – the entrance dripping with autumn moisture, stalactites glistening like they’d been polished for the occasion. Inside, the chill amplified the eerie magic, torches flickering on ancient formations as the guide spun tales of hidden treasures. Back at the apartment, we’d fire up the hot tub on the terrace as dusk fell, bubbles churning against a sky streaked with pink and orange, the Crescent lit up below like a postcard. One evening, wrapped in towels and robes, we watched the town’s Halloween lantern parade wind through the streets – jack-o’-lanterns glowing, kids in costumes, the whole scene framed perfectly from our perch. It was pure seasonal joy, that mix of spooky fun and crisp-night cosiness.

Even the food took on an autumnal vibe: hearty pub grub at the nearby Old Hall, piled high with local game pie and seasonal veg, washed down with Peak ales that hit just right after a blustery day. I had a quiet moment of reflection one foggy morning, sitting on the terrace with my coffee, watching mist roll over the rooftops. Life back home felt miles away – work stresses, endless to-do lists – and I realised how this time of year strips things back, reminding you to savour the simple stuff: family laughter, warming scents, that unbeatable fresh-air ache. We left Buxton reluctantly, cheeks rosy from the wind, hearts full from a holiday that autumn made utterly unforgettable. If you’re chasing that same magic, head up in the shoulder season – you won’t regret it.