I’ll never forget the drive down to the Forest of Dean last autumn – leaves turning that glorious mix of gold and copper, carpeting the roads like nature’s own welcome mat. Me and the family piled into the car from the Midlands, kids buzzing in the back with crisps and iPads, while I blasted a playlist of old folky tunes to get us in the mood. But typical me, about halfway there, I missed the turning for the M50 and ended up on some winding B-road, stuck behind a tractor chugging along at snail’s pace. Twenty minutes of mild panic later, we were back on track, laughing about my hopeless map-reading skills. By the time we crested the hill into Littledean, the sun was dipping low, casting this magical glow over the countryside and the River Severn below. Heart lifted instantly – what a first impression.

Pulling up to this big, family-friendly holiday house perched high up, overlooking it all, felt like stepping into a proper autumn hug. It’s the sort of place built for a big group like ours – space for 10, with two cosy sitting rooms, one with a gas fire we practically lived by. We dumped the bags and straight away cracked open a bottle of mulled wine I’d prepped, the spicy cinnamon scent mingling with that crisp, leaf-mulchy air drifting in from the open windows. Autumn here shapes everything; the forest was alive with that earthy dampness, perfect for wrapping up in scarves and wellies.

Next morning, we laced up and hit the trails right from the doorstep – the Forest of Dean’s got some cracking walks, especially in October when the ferns are rusty and the ground’s that satisfying crunch underfoot. We wandered down to Symonds Yat, just a short stroll away, where the river mist hung low and the peregrine falcons wheeled overhead. The kids loved chucking sticks for the dogs (we’d borrowed a couple of spaniels from a local), and I had one of those quiet moments watching the steam rise off our breath, thinking how daft it is that we don’t do this more often – life’s too short for endless scrolling. Gentle nudge to meself: unplug more.

Evenings were pure bliss, shaped by the season’s early dusk. We’d forage for blackberries along the nearby paths – plump and tangy, despite the odd wasp dive-bomb – then back to the house for a massive roast, flames flickering in both sitting rooms while we binge-watched a ghost story (autumnal chills, innit?). One night, we played board games till late, the kind of lazy luxury you only get when the world outside’s gone all shadowy and still.

A bike ride through the Wye Valley trails sealed it – pedalling past sun-dappled woods heavy with fallen leaves, stopping for conker hunts and hot chocolate at a forest café. The cool nip in the air made every cuppa taste better, every sunset over the Severn more vivid. It wasn’t glamorous, just properly restorative – autumn in the Forest of Dean wraps you up in its mellow magic, reminding you why these getaways matter. We left with muddy boots and fuller hearts, already plotting next year’s leaf-peeping adventure.