I’ll never forget the drive down to Lymington last autumn – the leaves were just starting to turn that gorgeous coppery gold, carpeting the New Forest roads like nature’s own welcome mat. I’d been buzzing with anticipation all week, imagining cosy evenings by a fire after days of crisp walks, but of course, things didn’t go entirely to plan. About halfway there, the satnav decided to throw a wobbly and directed us straight into a muddy lane that looked more like a pony trap than a proper road. We ended up with a splattered windscreen and a bit of a laugh, but it only added to the adventure – proper British countryside chaos!

Pulling into Lymington at last, the town’s high street was alive with that early autumn buzz: harvest stalls groaning under pumpkins and apples, and the air thick with the scent of woodsmoke from nearby chimneys. Our holiday spot was this cracking top-floor flat right in the heart of it all, with a lovely open-plan living space that slept four and a private courtyard garden begging for morning coffee. First impressions? Spot on. The place felt like a warm hug after the drive – light streaming through the big windows onto squashy sofas, and that garden already dusted with fallen leaves, perfect for al fresco nibbles as the days shortened.

Autumn shaped every minute of our stay, turning the ordinary into magic. Mornings kicked off with bracing walks along the Solent at nearby Lymington Quay, where the sea mist rolled in, turning the yachts into ghostly silhouettes and the salt air nipping at our cheeks. We’d crunch through Buckland’s Hard woods just a short stroll away, the forest floor a riot of rust and amber, with New Forest ponies ambling by like they owned the place (which they pretty much do). One afternoon, we timed it just right for low tide and wandered the mudflats, spotting waders darting about – the season’s cooler light made the whole scene feel like a watercolour painting.

Evenings were pure bliss, wrapped up in the flat’s cosy vibe. We’d fire up the oven for a roast with veg from the local market – those knobbly autumn carrots and earthy beetroot – then spill out into the courtyard as the sun dipped early, sipping mulled cider under strings of fairy lights. The shorter days meant everything felt more intimate; no rushing about, just lingering over board games as the sky bruised purple outside. I had a quiet moment one night, sitting there with a cuppa, reflecting on how the season’s mellow pace had nudged me to slow down too – workaholic me, actually switching off without a screen in sight. Hilarious, really, considering I’d packed three books and barely cracked one.

A gentle mishap with a rogue squirrel pinching our picnic crumbs aside, it was idyllic. The New Forest in autumn isn’t just pretty; it seeps into your bones, making you grateful for woolly jumpers and the simple joy of a leaf-peeping jaunt. If you’re after that proper seasonal charm, Lymington’s your spot – we’re already plotting a return for next year’s blaze of colour.