I’ll never forget the drive up to Scarborough last autumn – the leaves were turning that perfect mix of gold and rust, carpeting the roads like nature’s own welcome mat. Me and the family piled into the car from Leeds, kids buzzing in the back with crisps and iPads, husband navigating as usual. About halfway, disaster struck: a rogue pheasant decided to play chicken with our bumper, sending us into a frantic pull-over on a narrow moorland lane. Heart in my mouth, but no harm done – just a few feathers and a good laugh about our “wild Yorkshire welcome”. Shook it off, and by the time we trundled down that beautiful private lane at the edge of Seamer village, the anticipation was electric. What a stunner of a place – this contemporary holiday home, all sleek lines and cosy vibes, screaming “relax here”.

First impressions? Bloody brilliant, sorry, I mean spot on. We arrived mid-October, that crisp shoulder season where the crowds have thinned but the colours are popping. Pulled up to ample off-road parking, unloaded the boot, and straight into the ground-floor open-plan living space – it’s like the house was built for lazy family hangs. The kitchen was kitted out for a full-on feast, breakfast bar perfect for morning brews while staring out at the garden. That corner sofa by the woodburning stove became our throne; nothing beats cracking logs popping as the evenings draw in early, TV on low with a film, hot chocolates in hand. And the rear garden? Massive, with furniture begging for alfresco suppers – though the autumn chill meant we wrapped up in blankets, steaming mugs of tea instead of wine. The hot tub was the hero, though – bubbling away under a dusky sky, steam rising like a proper treat as leaves swirled around us. Sat there one night, jets pounding my shoulders after a day out, thinking, “This is living.”

The season shaped everything, didn’t it? Scarborough’s just a short hop away, and we timed it for those golden hour walks along the South Bay beach – sand still warm-ish underfoot, but waves crashing with that fresh North Sea bite. No summer scrum, just us paddling at the edge, collecting driftwood while gulls wheeled overhead. One afternoon, we wandered the harbour, fish and chips wrapped in paper, vinegar sharp against the salty air, watching trawlers unload the day’s catch. The castle ruins up on the headland looked magical in the low sun, all dramatic shadows – we huffed up the steps, winds whipping our scarves, rewarded with views over the bay turning pink. Back at the house, evenings were pure hygge: slow-cooked stew from the kitchen (that oven’s a dream), board games round the breakfast bar, stove roaring against the deepening chill outside.

Funny how autumn snuck in a moment of reflection for me. One misty morning, garden frosted like a Christmas card, I nipped out for a solo hot tub soak while everyone slept. Sat there, bubbles churning, watching breath fog the air, I realised how rare it is to just… stop. Kids growing up too fast, life rushing by – this place forced us to savour the quiet bits, the seasonal shift reminding you nothing lasts forever, but boy, make the most of it. For a big family getaway, up to nine of us fitted like a glove, and that location? Moors on one side for bracing hikes through turning bracken, Scarborough’s buzz minutes away. If you’re chasing that perfect autumn escape – fewer people, vivid colours, cosy nights in – this is your spot. We’re already plotting a return.