I’ll never forget the drive down to North Devon last autumn – the leaves were just starting to turn that gorgeous coppery gold, carpeting the verges like nature’s own confetti. Me and the missus piled into the car from Bristol, full of that fizzy anticipation you get before a proper getaway. But typical me, about halfway there, I took a wrong turn onto some narrow lane that twisted like a drunk snake through the woods. We ended up in a muddy puddle of a layby, tyres spinning uselessly while a cheeky squirrel watched from a branch, probably having a right laugh. Fifteen minutes and a bit of reversing later, we were back on track, both giggling at my sat-nav blindness.

Pulling up to the cottage that crisp October afternoon felt like stepping into a postcard. It’s one of those cosy spots right next to the owner’s place, just a short stroll from the burrows and sandy beach at Westward Ho!. First impressions? Magic. The sea air hit us with that bracing tang, and the low sun was gilding the waves – proper autumnal glow, you know? We dumped the bags and cracked open a brew on the patio, watching families bundle up for bracing beach walks. No summer crowds, just that peaceful shoulder-season vibe where everything feels a tad more yours.

The time of year shaped the whole trip, really. Mornings dawned misty and fresh, perfect for ambling along the South West Coast Path. We’d wrap up in scarves and wellies, crunching over frosty grass as the path dipped and soared with those jaw-dropping ocean views. One day, the wind whipped up, turning the sea into a frothy cauldron – exhilarating, like surfing without the board. Westward Ho! was buzzing just enough: we grabbed fish and chips from a café, the batter extra crunchy in the chill, and holed up with hot mugs watching the tide roll in. No battling for space on the beach; it was ours to potter about, poking at rock pools where crabs scuttled in the weak sunlight.

Afternoons, we wandered to the tennis courts nearby – empty but tempting, though my rusty serves were more comedy than competitive in the brisk breeze. Horse riding along the burrows was a highlight; trotting through golden ferns with the sea crashing below, the autumn light making everything cinematic. Evenings called for cosying in with the wood burner flickering (cheers to the owners for stocking it), supping local cider and planning the next jaunt. We popped over to Appledore one misty morning – its cobbled streets and harbour all quaint and hushed, fishermen mending nets under grey skies. Clovelly the next day, those steep, car-free lanes a workout for the calves, with the harbour’s sheltered charm glowing in the rare sunbeams.

Looking back, that autumnal hush gave us space to breathe, away from the summer scrum. I caught myself one evening, sat on the beach with the waves whispering, thinking how I’d been rushing through life like a fool. North Devon in October? It’s the gentle nudge you need. If you’re after that sweet spot of coastal bliss without the hordes, pack your thermals and go. We’re already plotting a return.