I’ll never forget the drive down to St Ives last autumn – leaves turning that gorgeous coppery gold all along the A30, but wouldn’t you know it, we hit a massive flock of sheep blocking the road just past Bodmin. Sat there for half an hour, engine idling, me drumming my fingers on the wheel while my other half scrolled through photos of past holidays. “Patience is a virtue,” she said with a grin. By the time we rolled into Carbis Bay, the sun was dipping low, painting the sea in fiery oranges, and all that pent-up anticipation melted away.

Pulling up to this stunning apartment in an exclusive little development of nine holiday homes right in the heart of Carbis Bay – renowned for its golden sands and those azure blue seas – I was gobsmacked. Panoramic views straight out the windows, like the ocean was putting on a private show just for us. It’s the sort of place that whispers luxury without shouting, all cosy and modern with that endless vista pulling you in. First impressions? Spot on. We cracked open a bottle of Cornish cider on the balcony as the light faded, watching surfers catch the last waves, and I thought, “This is exactly what we needed.”

Autumn in this corner of Cornwall is pure magic, isn’t it? No summer crowds jostling for space on the beach, just crisp mornings where you can wander Carbis Bay’s sands almost to yourself, boots crunching on damp pebbles left by the tide. The air’s got that bracing tang – salty sea mixed with woodsmoke from nearby chimneys – and the light’s softer, turning everything golden. We’d stroll down to the beach each dawn, me in my woolly hat (finally justifying that impulse buy from last year), her with a thermos of tea. One morning, a seal popped up right by the water’s edge, eyeing us curiously before flipping away. “Posh neighbour,” I joked, feeling a bit daft for getting so excited over a sea mammal.

Days blurred into easy rhythms shaped by the season. Porthkidney Sands became our go-to for windy walks, the dunes dotted with late blackberries we’d pick for breakfast (tart as anything, but free!). Evenings, we’d hop the footpath into St Ives – all of five minutes away – for fish and chips wrapped in paper, eaten on a bench overlooking Porthmeor Beach as the sun set early, sky streaked pink and purple. The galleries glowed invitingly, but autumn’s shorter days meant cosying up back at the apartment sooner, fire crackling (well, the electric one, but it did the trick), gazing at the waves crashing under a starry sky. One night, a storm rolled in – proper dramatic, wind howling like a Cornish banshee – and we just sat there, mesmerised, cups of hot chocolate in hand.

It got me reflecting, you know? Amid the cosy chaos of autumn – fewer tourists, more realness – I realised how these trips recharge the batteries. No rushing, just being. Back home now, with winter knocking, I’m already plotting a return. St Ives in autumn? It’s got my heart.