I’ll never forget the drive down to the Forest of Dean last autumn – leaves turning that perfect mix of gold and rust, carpeting the roads like nature’s own welcome mat. Me and the family piled into the car from Gloucestershire, buzzing with that holiday anticipation, but about halfway there, disaster struck: a rogue pheasant decided to play chicken with our windscreen. No harm done, just a feathery fright and a quick stop to shake it off, laughing about how the forest wildlife was already testing us.

Pulling up to the cottage just under a mile from Blakeney village, my heart lifted. It’s one of those cosy, traditional spots – low ceilings, welcoming nooks, the kind that wraps you up like a favourite jumper. First impressions? Spot on. The autumn sun filtered through the trees, casting a warm glow over everything, and you could practically smell the woodsmoke from the pubs in the village. Blakeney itself is a gem, with its little store for essentials and a couple of cracking country pubs for a pint after a day out.

Autumn shaped every minute of our stay, turning the ordinary into magic. The forest trails were alive with that crisp crunch underfoot, perfect for our daily walks. We followed paths right into the heart of the Forest of Dean, dodging piles of fallen leaves that the kids kicked up like confetti. One afternoon, we ambled along the River Wye – lazy doesn’t cover it, with the water sparkling under weak October sun, herons eyeing us suspiciously. It felt timeless, like stepping into a Constable painting, but with the added thrill of cooler air nipping at your cheeks.

For the thrill-seekers (that’s me, pretending I’m still 20), Symonds Yat was a short hop away – canoeing down the Wye as the leaves rained gently around us was pure poetry. No white-knuckle rapids in autumn, mind, just serene paddling with the trees framing every bend. The boys loved the cycle trails too; that world-class downhill mountain bike course at the Forest of Dean Cycle Centre had them whooping, mud-splattered and grinning despite the shorter days. We even squeezed in Go Ape before the light faded, swinging through the canopy as the forest whispered below.

Family highlights? Puzzle Woods had us scratching heads over mazes amid the fiery foliage, and Clearwell Caves felt even more mysterious with that damp, earthy autumn chill. A gentle stroll through Cyril Hart Arboretum wrapped it up nicely – trees in full fiery display, forcing a bit of self-reflection on me. Sat there on a bench, mug of tea in hand, I realised how these shorter, golden days make you savour every ray of sun, every shared laugh. No rushing about; just proper presence.

Back at the cottage each evening, we’d huddle by the fire, rosy-cheeked from the day. Autumn’s mellow pace made it our best trip yet – a reminder that sometimes the best holidays are the ones where the season steals the show. Can’t wait to go back.