I’ll never forget the drive down to Lyme Regis last autumn – the leaves were just starting to turn that gorgeous coppery gold, carpeting the lanes like nature’s own confetti. We’d piled into the car from Bristol with a boot full of wellies and thermoses, buzzing about a cosy getaway. But typical me, I took a wrong turn somewhere near Honiton, ending up on a narrow, winding track that had us white-knuckling it through a sudden downpour. “This is Dorset for you,” I laughed to my other half, as the sat-nav finally spat us out onto the main road, both of us damp but still grinning.

Pulling up to our spot in the heart of town, right by the old station area, we were hit with those first impressions that make you exhale. It’s a ground-floor apartment in this grand Victorian place – think formerly the station hotel, now cleverly turned into these swish flats with killer views straight over the rooftops to the sea. High ceilings, massive windows flooding the place with that soft, slanting autumn light, and our own terrace begging for morning coffees with a salty breeze. It felt instantly like home, but posher – stylish little touches everywhere, from plush throws to quirky seaside prints that screamed “relax here”.

Autumn in Lyme Regis is pure magic, isn’t it? No summer crowds clogging the Cobb, just us and a handful of dog-walkers savouring the crisp air. We wandered out that first afternoon along the Undercliff, crunching through fallen leaves, the Jurassic Coast path all misty and dramatic under grey skies. Spotting fossils in the shale beaches – ammonites popping out like treasures – felt like a proper nod to the season’s slower pace. Back at the flat, we’d fire up the oven for a roast, the terrace perfect for watching dusk settle over the waves, steam rising from our mugs of tea as the chill nipped in.

One morning, we joined a gentle beach clean at Monmouth Beach, gloves on against the brisk wind, filling bags with plastic washed up by autumn storms. It was one of those moments that had me reflecting – you know, pausing mid-stride to think how easy it is to rush through life, but places like this, in this mellow time of year, make you stop and breathe. I caught myself smiling at how content I felt, no itinerary, just the rhythm of the tides.

Evenings were for the local pub, the Volunteer Inn, where the fire roared and they do a cracking Dorset apple pie – all seasonal warmth against the darkening nights. We’d stroll back under streetlamps, the town’s fairy lights twinkling early for Bonfire Night vibes. A day trip up to Charmouth’s cliffs yielded blackberries for breakfast pancakes, fat and juicy from the cooler weather. And that terrace? Golden hour there, with gulls wheeling over a sea turning steely blue, was unbeatable.

Honestly, autumn wrapped this holiday in a hug – fewer people, richer colours, that fresh tang in the air sharpening every moment. If you’re after a Dorset escape that lets the season steal the show, this is it. We left refreshed, already plotting a return when the leaves are at their peak again.