I’ll never forget the drive up to Scarborough last autumn – the leaves were turning that gorgeous coppery gold, carpeting the roads like nature’s own welcome mat. Me and my mate Sarah had piled into the car from Leeds, full of beans about a cheeky weekend away, but about halfway there, disaster struck: a massive flock of starlings decided to swoop right across the windscreen, leaving us splattered and giggling like idiots. We pulled over for a frantic wipe-down with wet wipes, cursing the birds under our breath, but it set the tone – a proper seasonal adventure, with that crisp October chill in the air hinting at cosier times ahead.

By the time we rolled up, the anticipation was buzzing. Scarborough’s coast was living up to its rep, the sea mist rolling in off the North Sea, carrying that briny tang that screams “proper seaside”. First impressions? Spot on. We’d booked this cheerful ground-floor garden apartment right along the coast, near the edge of the North York Moors. It’s got that bright, airy vibe perfect for couples or mates like us, with a private garden that felt like our own little haven. Stepped inside to a spacious double bedroom begging for a good night’s kip, a walk-in shower room that was pure bliss after the drive, and a homely kitchen kitted out with an electric oven, hob, microwave, fridge, dishwasher, espresso machine, and even a Ninja multi-cooker. We were sorted.

Autumn shaped every minute of it, turning what could’ve been a standard break into something magical. Mornings started with steaming espressos in the garden, watching the low sun glint off the waves while crunchy leaves swirled around our feet. That time of year meant fewer crowds – no summer queues at the chip shops – so we wandered down to the beach in five minutes flat, boots sinking into damp sand as the tide pulled back to reveal rock pools teeming with crabs. The air was sharp, invigorating, urging us to wrap up in scarves for bracing walks along the South Cliff, where the turning trees framed epic views of the bay. We even nipped over to the Moors’ edge for a gentle hike, the bracken all rusty red and the wind whipping up that fresh, earthy scent you only get in October.

Evenings were pure hygge, courtesy of the season. We’d rustle up stews in the Ninja – nothing fancy, just hearty root veg and local sausages from the market – then flop on the sofa with a bottle of red, listening to the waves crash as the garden filled with the rustle of falling leaves. One night, sat there with the heater humming, I had a proper moment of self-reflection: life back home’s been a whirlwind of deadlines, but out here, with the autumn dusk settling soft and slow, it hit me how recharging it is to just switch off. Sarah caught me staring into space and joked I looked like a poet; I laughed it off, but she wasn’t far wrong.

We hit the Italian Gardens for a windswept picnic – golden hour light making it feel like a painting – and treated ourselves to fresh crab from the harbour stalls, the season’s mellow fruitiness pairing perfectly with the salty catch. No two-penny slots or donkey rides for us; autumn Scarborough is about those quieter joys, like foggy dawn paddles or steaming mugs by the window. Left feeling utterly refreshed, already plotting a return when the leaves are gone and winter bites. What a gem.