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 the missus piled into the car from Leeds, full of that buzzy anticipation you get before a proper getaway. But typical me, I took a wrong turn somewhere near Whitby, ending up on a winding lane that had us crawling behind a tractor for what felt like hours. We arrived just as the sun dipped low, painting the sky in those dramatic oranges and purples that only Yorkshire does so well. Laughing about my daft navigation, we pulled up to this cosy little terraced cottage tucked away in a quiet spot near the town centre – all welcoming windows glowing warm against the crisp evening chill.

First impressions? Spot on. Stepping inside, the place felt like a hug from an old mate – compact but comfy, with everything you need for a fuss-free break. The autumn light filtered through the windows, making the space feel alive with that soft, golden glow. We dumped the bags and cracked open a bottle of red, toasting to no more wrong turns.

The season really made this trip sing. Scarborough in October is magic – not too mobbed, but still buzzing enough to feel lively. Mornings started with frosty air nipping at our noses as we wandered down to the South Bay beach. The sea was a moody grey-green, waves crashing with that invigorating roar, and the sand crunched underfoot littered with seaweed and the odd washed-up crab shell. We wrapped up in scarves and bobble hats, chucking chips to the seagulls who swooped like feisty acrobats. One morning, we timed it for low tide and ambled along the water’s edge, the chill wind turning our cheeks rosy – proper bracing stuff that wakes you right up.

Afternoons were for pottering around the Old Town’s winding streets, where the air smelled of woodsmoke from chimneys and freshly baked scones from the tearooms. We climbed the 300-odd steps to Scarborough Castle – huffing and puffing, I might add – rewarded with panoramic views of the bay framed by fiery foliage on the cliffs. The ruins looked even more dramatic in the slanting autumn sun, like stepping into a history book with a chill factor. I had a quiet moment up there, leaning on the wall, watching a lone kite surfer battle the gusts below. Made me reflect on how these little escapes remind you to slow down; life’s too short not to chase that sea air high.

Evenings back at the cottage were pure bliss, cosied up with the heating on full blast. We’d cook simple suppers – think hearty stews bubbling away – and binge on telly while rain pattered the windows, that seasonal drumming lulling us into contentment. One night, we ventured to a nearby pub for a pint of bitter and some proper fish and chips, the batter crispy from the fryer, steam rising in the foggy air outside.

The autumn hues and that crisp edge shaped every bit of it – from the crunchy leaves underfoot on walks through Peasholm Park, where the lake mirrored the turning trees, to the way the fading light turned everything poetic. Sure, the days were shorter, urging us indoors earlier, but that just made the cottage feel even more of a sanctuary. Left us recharged, with cheeks windswept and hearts full. Can’t wait to go back next leaf-peeping season.