I’ll never forget the drive down to Cornwall last autumn – the leaves turning that gorgeous coppery gold, crunching underfoot wherever we stopped for a stretch. We’d piled into the car from up country, kids in the back buzzing with excitement, but about halfway there, disaster struck: a puncture on the A30, right as the light was fading and a proper Cornish drizzle started. Me, faffing about with the spare tyre in my wellies, feeling like a right numpty while the family cheered me on from the sidelines. Took an hour, but we laughed it off over emergency pasties from a roadside van – proper fuel for the soul.

By the time we rolled into the hamlet of Daw’s House near Launceston, the anticipation was electric. That nip in the air, the mist rolling over the hills – it was peak autumn magic, the kind that makes you glad you’ve escaped the daily grind. Pulling up to this magical Georgian home, I had one of those “pinch me” moments. Tucked away in the heart of it all, it looked like it was waiting just for us, glowing warmly against the twilight. First impressions? Spot on. Stepping inside felt like a hug from an old mate – cosy, inviting, perfect for families or a gang of friends plotting their Cornish adventures.

The sitting room was our instant haven. We dumped the bags and snuggled up on the sofas, firing up a classic film as the autumn chill pressed against the windows. That snug off the kitchen was a godsend too – the kids claimed it for gaming marathons, controller battles echoing while I pottered about. And oh, the kitchen! Massive and brilliant for rustling up those hearty autumn suppers – think slow-cooked stews with local spuds and pasties stuffed with proper moorland beef from nearby farms. We’d carry them through to the dining room, where the woodburner at the head of the table crackled away, turning wintry evenings into pure bliss. Late-night chats flowed as freely as the mulled cider, faces lit by the flames, the season wrapping us in its mellow embrace.

Autumn shaped every bit of it, really. Days were crisp and golden, ideal for rambling the paths around Launceston Castle – just a short hop away, its ruins dramatic under fiery foliage, the kids charging about like explorers while we munched on fallen conkers. We’d pop to the local farm shop for pumpkin pies and fudge, the air thick with that earthy, harvest scent. Evenings brought proper cosiness: misty walks along the River Tamar, spotting the first hints of frost, then back for board games by the fire. One afternoon, caught in a sudden downpour, we dashed home soaked but giggling, drying off with hot chocolate and stories.

It got me reflecting, sat there one night by the woodburner, watching the embers die down. Life’s so hectic – work, school runs, the lot – but this place, in that golden autumn hush, reminded me to slow down, savour the simple joys with the people who matter. No grand plans needed; just good food, daft laughs, and the turning of the seasons. Cornwall in autumn? It’s not just a holiday; it’s a reset. We’re already plotting a return.