I’ll never forget the drive down to Somerset last autumn – the leaves were turning that perfect golden hue, carpeting the lanes like someone had scattered a million fivers. Me and the missus piled into the car from Bristol, sat-nav on, thermos of tea at the ready, dreaming of cosy nights in. But about halfway, disaster struck: a rogue pheasant decided to play chicken with our Fiesta, flapping right across the windscreen. Heart in mouth, we swerved, missed it by a whisker, and ended up laughing like loons once the adrenaline wore off. “That’s Somerset wildlife for you,” I chuckled, brushing a stray feather off the dash. It set the tone – a bit of autumn chaos before the calm.

Pulling up to the property just outside Somerton, I felt that proper buzz of anticipation. Would it live up to the pics? As we crunched over the gravel, the first impressions were spot on: a charming little stables conversion, all snug and welcoming with its pitched roof and flower tubs still blooming defiantly against the crisp air. Stepping inside, the wood-burner was already laid, begging for a match, and the windows framed views of rolling fields glowing in the low October sun. Perfect for the season, really – no scorching summer heat to battle, just that invigorating chill that makes you appreciate a hot cuppa.

The time of year shaped everything, didn’t it? Mornings started misty, with dew clinging to spiderwebs like fairy lights, and we’d wrap up in scarves for a gentle wander around the nearby lanes. Somerton’s just a short hop away – we ambled into town one blustery afternoon, past thatched cottages huddled against the wind, and grabbed pasties from the bakery. The apples were at their best too; we picked a bag from an honesty box stall, crisp and tart, ideal for crumbling into a pie later. Evenings were pure magic: fire crackling, mulled cider steaming (non-alcoholic for me, driving the next day), while the darkening skies filled with stars you’d never see back home with all the light pollution.

One day, we ventured to the Fleet Air Arm Museum, about four miles off – the autumn light streaming through the hangars made those old planes look even more majestic, like ghosts from a bygone era. But it was the quiet moments that hit home. Sat on the patio one golden afternoon, watching leaves drift lazily down, I had a proper think. Life’s been a whirlwind lately – work piling up, kids off at uni – and this break reminded me how a simple change of season can reset the soul. No need for grand adventures; just crisp air, good company, and the rustle of falling leaves.

We left feeling utterly refreshed, promising to return next autumn. Somerset in October? It’s like the county saves its best for when the crowds thin out and the colours pop. If you’re after that proper seasonal hug, get yourself down there.