I’ll never forget the drive down to St Ives last autumn – the leaves turning that gorgeous coppery gold along the A30, with the first hints of a crisp chill in the air that made me crave a proper Cornish pasty. Me and the family piled into the car from up country, kids buzzing in the back with their iPads, but about 20 miles out, disaster struck: a flat tyre right in the middle of nowhere, just as the sun dipped low and painted the moors in that moody, harvest-time glow. We laughed it off (after a bit of faffing with the spare), but it added to the adventure, didn’t it? By the time we rolled into Carbis Bay, hearts racing with that arrival buzz, the sky was streaked with pink and orange, promising the kind of seasonal magic you only get in Cornwall this time of year.

Pulling up to our second-floor penthouse apartment felt like stumbling into a hug from an old mate. Private parking right outside – no scrabbling for spaces in the darkening streets – and a lift whisked us up to this stylish home-from-home bang in the heart of it all. Stepping inside, we were hit with those massive floor-to-ceiling windows framing the sea, all shimmering under the fading autumn light. The open-plan living space was light and airy, even as the days grew shorter, with a plush corner sofa begging us to flop down and crack open a bottle of red while the Sonos played some mellow tunes. First impressions? Spot on. It was cosy without being cluttered, perfect for hunkering down as the evenings drew in.

Autumn shaped every minute of our stay, turning the ordinary into something special. Mornings started with steaming coffees on the balcony, watching mist roll off the waves at Carbis Bay Beach – just a gentle five-minute stroll away down the path, where the sand was scattered with seashells and the tide pools glowed in the low sun. We’d wrap up in scarves and wellies for wanders along the South West Coast Path, the bracken turning fiery red and the gorse still blooming yellow against the slate-grey sea. One afternoon, we timed it for low tide and poked around the rock pools, kids squealing over tiny crabs, the air sharp with that salty, leaf-mulch tang that screams proper autumn.

Evenings were pure bliss, the penthouse glowing warm against the cooling dusk. We’d cook up fish and chips from the local spot in Carbis Bay – fresh mackerel caught that day – then curl up for films as rain pattered the windows, the panoramic views turning dramatic with passing showers. Light humour came when I tried (and failed) to master the Sonos for a Spotify playlist; ended up blasting sea shanties instead, which had us in stitches. A gentle moment of reflection hit me one starry night, gazing out at the lighthouse beam cutting through the dark: amid the seasonal shift, with winds picking up and leaves swirling, it made me realise how these getaways recharge the soul, stripping back to simple joys before winter bites.

We squeezed in a quick train hop to St Ives proper for the autumn markets – stalls heaving with fudge, hot cider, and arty prints – but always dashed back to our perch for sunset views that no painting could capture. If you’re chasing that shoulder-season charm, when crowds thin and Cornwall feels intimately yours, this is the spot. Left us proper refreshed, already plotting next year’s return.