I’ll never forget the drive down to Somerset last autumn – the leaves were turning that gorgeous coppery gold, carpeting the roads like nature’s own welcome mat. I’d roped in my mate Dave and his two lads for a long weekend getaway, figuring the crisp October air would be perfect for some proper countryside vibes. But typical me, I took a wrong turn just past Yeovil, ending up on some narrow lane that had me white-knuckling the wheel as tractors loomed out of the mist. We arrived a tad late, hearts racing, but honestly, that little mishap just amped up the anticipation – by the time we pulled up, we were buzzing to unload and dive into the holiday.

First impressions? Blimey, they hit like a warm hug. Tucked in the heart of Norton-sub-Hamdon, this first-floor apartment felt like a cosy nook straight out of a feel-good film. The open-plan living space opened right up to us, all bright and inviting with that plush corner sofa begging for a collapse after the drive. The well-equipped kitchen gleamed, and spotting the private courtyard below – dappled in afternoon sun filtering through the turning branches – had us grinning like kids. It sleeps four no bother, with a king-size and twin bedroom both done up homely and fresh, plus a sleek bathroom with bath and shower for post-walk rinses. Perfect for our little crew.

Autumn shaped every minute of it, turning the ordinary into magic. Mornings started with mist rolling over the nearby trails – we’d grab bikes from the village and pedal out along the disused railway path towards Stoke-sub-Hamdon, the air sharp and scented with damp earth and fallen leaves. Crunching underfoot, they made you feel alive, none of that summer stickiness. One day, we hiked up to Ham Hill, just a couple of miles off, where the iron-age fort overlooks fields ablaze in russet and amber. The wind whipped up, cheeks rosy, but pausing for flask coffee with views stretching to the Blackdowns was pure bliss. Dave’s lads went feral collecting conkers, pockets bulging – I caught myself smiling, thinking how I’d have been the same at their age, rather than faffing about with spreadsheets back home.

Evenings were all about that seasonal glow. I rustled up a proper roast in the kitchen – pumpkin soup to start, using veg from the local farm shop – then we’d pile round the four-seater table, steam rising in the lamplight. Film night on the sofa followed, duvets dragged in against the chill, with cider mulled on the hob because why not lean into the cosiness? The courtyard became our sunset spot, wrapped in blankets, watching stars prick the clear, frosty sky. No light pollution here, just that deep, velvety dark autumn brings.

That gentle self-reflection hit on the last morning, sipping tea as dew sparkled on the grass. In the rush of city life, I forget how a shift in seasons can reset you – the slowing down, the layers, the way everything feels more vivid. We left with muddy boots and fuller hearts, already plotting a spring return. Somerset in autumn? It’s not just a holiday; it’s a reminder to breathe.