I’ll never forget the drive down to Weymouth last month – it was one of those crisp autumn mornings where the mist clings to the countryside like a reluctant goodbye to summer. I’d piled the car with wellies, a Thermos of tea, and enough snacks to fend off a siege, buzzing with that proper holiday anticipation. You know the feeling: windows down, radio blasting some classic tunes, dreaming of sandy beaches and fresh crab rolls. But about halfway there, near Dorchester, the sat-nav decided to throw a wobbly and sent me down a narrow lane that turned into a muddy quagmire after overnight rain. Classic me – I ended up with the wheels spinning like a hamster on a wheel, ringing the AA while laughing at my own daftness. Twenty minutes later, I was back on track, a bit late but still grinning.

Pulling up to the second-floor apartment right in the thick of Weymouth town centre felt like striking gold. It’s this smart, renovated spot bang in the heart of the action, with a bright open-plan living space that just screams ‘relax here’. Two plush sofas, a massive flat-screen telly for cosy film nights, and a cracking kitchen with a gas hob, electric oven, and roomy fridge – perfect for knocking up a stew when the sea breeze bites. First impressions? Spot on. The autumn light poured in, turning everything golden, and I dumped my bags feeling instantly at home.

Weymouth in autumn is pure magic, isn’t it? No summer crowds shoving you on the beach, just that mellow vibe where the Jurassic Coast shows off its dramatic side. We wandered down to Weymouth Beach the first afternoon – the sea was a moody grey-green, waves crashing with that fresh, briny chill in the air. I zipped up my jacket against the wind whipping off Portland Bill, but it was brilliant. Grabbed fish and chips from a harbourside stall, the batter crisp despite the damp, and munched them on the pebble beach watching dog walkers and a few hardy paddleboarders. The season made it – those low-slung clouds racing across the sky, turning the harbour into a shimmering palette of silvers and blues.

Next day, we ambled along the Esplanade, leaves crunching underfoot from the trees lining the front. Popped into the Sea Life Centre – not too mobbed this time of year, so we had the shark tunnel almost to ourselves, kids’ faces lit up by the eerie glow. Evenings were the best, though. Back at the flat, I’d rustle up a hearty pasta with local Dorset cheeses from the weekly market (autumn’s bounty, all squashes and apples), then flop on the sofa with a glass of wine, TV on low, listening to the faint hum of the town below. One night, a sudden downpour rattled the windows – proper Weymouth weather – and we just stayed in, playing board games till late.

Strolling Nothe Gardens was a highlight too. Those fort gardens perch above the sea, and in autumn, the paths are carpeted in coppery leaves, with views out to the breakwater that take your breath away on a clear spell. We spotted seals bobbing about, and the air smelled of salt and wet earth. It got me reflecting, you see – sat there on a bench, mug of coffee steaming, thinking how rushing through life back home leaves no room for this. Autumn in Weymouth slows you down, strips away the noise, reminds you to savour the simple stuff.

We even squeezed in a boat trip around the bay – choppy waters, but that golden hour light hitting the cliffs? Chef’s kiss. No regrets about picking this time of year; the cooler days meant fewer tourists, cozier nights in the apartment, and that real sense of the coast winding down for winter. If you’re after a proper unwind, Weymouth in autumn’s your spot. Can’t wait to go back.