I’ll never forget the drive down to the Cotswolds last autumn – that golden time of year when the leaves are turning all sorts of fiery hues and the air has that crisp bite that makes you feel alive. Me, my partner, our two kids, and the dog, piled into the car from London, full of excitement for a week in a pet-friendly lodge on a proper rural estate near Little Rissington. But typical me, I took a wrong turn somewhere near Stow-on-the-Wold, ending up on a narrow lane that had me white-knuckling the wheel as branches scraped the sides. A classic dad blunder – twenty minutes of mild panic and a few sheepish laughs later, we were back on track, the kids chanting “are we there yet?” like a broken record.

Pulling up to the three-bedroom lodge as the late afternoon sun dipped low, casting everything in that magical amber glow, my heart just lifted. Tucked on the Church Farm Estate with 60 acres stretching out like a painting, it was everything we’d hoped: cosy, stylish, and ready for our family of six plus the woofing wonder. The enclosed rear garden was perfect for the dog to chase shadows, and I could already picture us eating outside if the weather held – though autumn’s whimsy kept us guessing.

First impressions? Spot on. We dumped the bags and dashed out to explore, the estate’s paths crunching underfoot with fallen leaves in shades of rust and gold. It was like wandering through a Constable sketch, but with a kids’ play area that had the little ones whooping on swings while the dog sniffed every nook. That seasonal shift made it – no summer crowds, just peaceful walks where the hedgerows were heavy with blackberries, begging to be picked for a crumble later.

Our days revolved around autumn’s gifts. Mornings started with mist rolling over the fields, perfect for a gentle ramble to Bourton-on-the-Water, just 2.2 miles away. We’d wander its honey-coloured bridges, the river sparkling under weak sun, grabbing hot chocolate from a tearoom to fend off the chill. One afternoon, we tried horse riding at the local equestrian centre – nothing fancy, just a plod through woods carpeted in leaves. I was wobbly as anything, clinging on like a sack of spuds, but the kids loved it, faces flushed from the fresh air. “Dad, you looked like a startled penguin!” they giggled later. Fair play, I suppose.

Evenings were for the stylish kitchen – dishwasher a godsend after muddy boots – rustling up feasts like roast chicken with foraged apples from nearby orchards. We’d dine at the table for six, windows steamed up, sharing stories as rain pattered seasonally outside. One night, a proper downpour turned the garden into a paddling pool, forcing us indoors for board games by the fire. It was those moody skies and earthy scents that made it special, reminding me how I’ve got into a rut of city life, always rushing. This holiday? A gentle nudge to slow down, breathe in the damp woodland air, and appreciate the simple joys with the family.

By week’s end, as frost nipped the grass and the trees stood bare-branched against pink sunsets, we didn’t want to leave. Autumn in the Cotswolds wrapped us in its cosy embrace – mishaps and all, it was pure magic.