I’ll never forget the drive down to Padstow last autumn – those golden leaves swirling around like confetti as we trundled along the A39, proper Cornish backroads stuff. It was mid-October, you see, that sweet spot where summer’s heat has dipped into crisp, bracing days, and the crowds have thinned out just enough to feel like you’ve got the place to yourself. We’d piled into the car from Bristol, kids in the back squabbling over crisps, when disaster struck: a flat tyre just past Bodmin. Me, faffing about with the spare in the drizzle, feeling like a right numpty while the missus rang the breakdown service. Half an hour later, we were back on track, but it only ramped up the anticipation – by the time we rolled into Padstow, I was buzzing like a kid at Christmas.

Pulling up to our holiday home, an elegant Edwardian coastal retreat in one of Newquay’s prime spots, I was gobsmacked. This beautifully restored four-storey beauty overlooked the golden sands of Towan Beach, with ocean views that stretched out like a painting. Perfect for our big family gang – sleeping up to 18 across eight cracking bedrooms – it screamed relaxed luxury without being stuffy. First impressions? Spot on. The autumn light poured in through the windows, turning everything all warm and honeyed, and you could practically taste the sea air.

That seasonal shift made the whole trip magical. Mornings started with misty dawns over the waves, ideal for bracing walks along Towan Beach. The kids dashed out in wellies, kicking through piles of seaweed and crunchy leaves, while we parents sipped tea on the balcony, watching surfers in neoprene battle the choppier autumn swells. Newquay’s vibe in October is pure gold – no summer scrum, just locals and us hardy holidaymakers. We wandered into town, easy stroll from the door, grabbing pasties from the bakeries (properly flaky, stuffed with local beef) and coffees from cafés buzzing with that post-summer hush. One afternoon, we hit Fistral Beach, just a short hop away, where the Boardmasters aftermath lingered in the air – empty dunes, wind-whipped kites, and seals barking offshore. The cooler temps meant no sweaty hikes; instead, gentle rambles along the South West Coast Path, crunching over acorns and spotting fungi poking through the bracken.

Evenings were the best bit, that autumnal cosiness wrapping around us like a favourite jumper. We’d fire up the Aga (or whatever that massive cooker was), rustle up seafood from the harbour – fresh mackerel grilled with a bit of lemon, sourced from the day’s catch. Padstow’s famed for it, and being just over the way, we nipped over one night for Rick Stein’s chippy, queuing in the twilight chill for battered cod that melted in your mouth. Back home, board games by the fire, ghost stories with the wind howling outside, and the kids conking out early from all the fresh air. Light humour came when I tried “surfing” the rock pools at Porth Beach – slipped on seaweed, ended up soaked to the knees, everyone in stitches. “Dad’s the real wave magnet,” they jeered.

Looking back, that time of year was a gentle nudge to slow down. Summer’s frantic energy gone, autumn let us breathe, connect, really soak in the coast’s moody beauty. No regrets about dodging the peak season rush – it felt authentic, restorative. If you’re after a proper Cornish escape, go in the shoulder months. You won’t look back.