We'd only just left the M5 when the satnav decided to test our patience, sending us down a lane so narrow the wing mirrors practically kissed the hedgerows. By the time we pulled up outside the little white cottage in Bideford, it was already early October and the light had that soft, honeyed quality you only get when summer has properly packed its bags. The air smelled of salt and woodsmoke, and the moment we stepped out of the car a gust whipped my scarf clean off my head and deposited it in a puddle.

Inside, the cottage felt instantly welcoming, with its low ceilings and the faint scent of last night’s fire still clinging to the beams. We dropped our bags, made a cup of tea, and wandered straight through to the back garden. From there the view opened out across the dunes and down to the beach, the tide far out and the wet sand gleaming like polished pewter under the late-afternoon sky. A few hardy dog-walkers were out, their coats flapping, but otherwise the stretch looked almost private.

We decided to make the most of the mild spell before the weather turned, so we headed down the short path that leads to the shore. The October light made everything look sharper: the marram grass had turned that dusty gold colour, and the cliffs to the west were already catching the first hints of sunset. We walked along the tideline collecting bits of driftwood, not for any practical reason, just because it felt right for the season. A sudden shower caught us halfway back and we ended up laughing under a shared jacket, shoes squelching, while the cottage windows glowed ahead like a lighthouse.

Back inside we lit the wood burner straight away. The cottage came with a generous basket of logs, and the crackle soon filled the sitting room while we unpacked. I found myself standing at the window for longer than planned, watching the sky shift from peach to deep violet. There’s something about being here in autumn that slows everything down; the crowds have gone, the days are shorter, and you notice the small details more, like how the cottage’s thick walls keep the chill out while the fire does its work.

Later we wandered into Bideford for fish and chips, the high street already strung with early Halloween lights. Walking back along the quay with paper parcels in hand, the river looked dark and restless under the streetlamps. We ate at the kitchen table with the curtains open so we could still see the water, and I caught myself thinking how different this trip felt compared with our usual summer dashes. There was no rush to cram in activities; instead the season itself seemed to set the pace.

By the time we turned in, the cottage was warm and the only sound was the occasional rattle of the window in the wind. Lying in bed I realised the little satnav mishap had been a blessing in disguise; it had forced us to arrive slowly, to notice the change in the light and the quiet that autumn brings to this stretch of coast. Outside, the tide was coming in again, steady and unhurried, exactly the sort of rhythm you hope to match when you’re lucky enough to stay somewhere like this.