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 narrow lane that had us dodging tractors and sheep for what felt like hours. We arrived a bit frazzled, but as we pulled up to the cosy lodge nestled in a quiet spot just off the main drag, all that stress melted away. First impressions? Spot on – it had this welcoming, tucked-away charm with a little garden that screamed “relax here with a cuppa”, and the autumn sun filtering through the trees made it look like a picture from a postcard.

Settling in felt effortless, especially with the season turning the air crisp and invigorating. We lit the wood burner straight away – nothing beats that crackle and glow on a chilly October evening, turning the living room into our own hygge haven. Mornings started with steaming mugs of tea on the patio, watching mist roll off the nearby North Sea, the sort of misty mornings that make you grateful for an extra layer. Scarborough in autumn is magical like that; the summer crowds have buggered off, leaving the place feeling like our private playground. We wandered down to the beach, just a short stroll away, where the tide pools shimmered under weak sunlight and the waves crashed with a fresh, bracing energy that winter was hinting at.

One highlight was hitting the Spa – not the posh treatment kind, but the classic cliff-top lido where we braved a bracing outdoor swim. The water was Baltic, mind you, but that autumnal sharpness made it exhilarating, like jumping into a pint of icy ale. We laughed our heads off, splashing about while golden leaves fluttered down from the trees above. Evenings were for fish and chips from a chippy on the harbour, eaten on a bench overlooking the bay as the sun dipped low, painting the sky in fiery oranges and purples. Proper seasonal joy, that – the chips steaming in the cool air, the sea breeze carrying a hint of salt and woodsmoke from beachside fires.

We pottered around the castle too, climbing those winding paths with the wind whipping through the ramparts. Up there, the views stretched out over the town and sea, all framed by russet foliage swaying in the gusts. It made me pause for a bit of gentle reflection – staring out at that timeless scene, I realised how these shorter days and fading light pull you inwards, make you appreciate the simple stuff like a warm lodge waiting back home. No mad rush, just us, the season’s quiet rhythm, and the odd seagull squawking for scraps.

By the end of the week, we were hooked on how autumn wrapped Scarborough in this soft, nostalgic glow. It wasn’t the blazing summer vibe, but something deeper – cosy, contemplative, and utterly restorative. If you’re after a holiday that lets the time of year do the heavy lifting, this is it. Can’t wait to go back next leaf-fall.