I’ll never forget the drive down to County Kerry last October – the autumn leaves were turning all those fiery shades of orange and red, but of course, I managed to pick the one day when Storm something-or-other decided to chuck it down with rain. We’d rented a car in Killarney and set off for Beaufort, windows steaming up from our excited chatter, only for me to take a wrong turn onto some narrow back lane. Cue ten minutes of me swearing at the satnav (under my breath, mind) while the kids in the back giggled and my other half sighed dramatically. But honestly, that little mishap just ramped up the anticipation – by the time we pulled up, we were proper starving for a cosy escape.

First impressions? Blimey, they hit like a warm hug. This elegant stone-fronted home sat there grinning at us through the drizzle, with these spectacular views straight out over the lake and the misty Macgillycuddy Reeks looming in the distance. It was peak autumn magic – the water all rippled and silver under the low clouds, and those mountains cloaked in that soft, heather-purple haze. We bundled inside with our bags, shaking off the wet like a pack of soggy spaniels, and straight away, it felt like home. Perfect for our group of eight – family and a couple of mates who’d joined the fray.

October in Kerry shaped everything, didn’t it? Days were crisp and golden when the sun peeked out, urging us to pile into the car for the Ring of Kerry. We’d stop at Ladies View, where the foliage was at its peak, all glowing amber against the grey skies, and sneak a flask of tea from the boot. Sneem’s colourful cottages looked even more charming under the fleeting blue patches, and we crunched through fallen leaves on short walks around Lough Caragh, spotting the odd red squirrel darting about. But come late afternoon, that seasonal chill would bite, and we’d scarper back to base, faces windswept and rosy.

Evenings were the real treat, though – pure autumnal bliss. We’d light the coal-effect electric fire, its glow flickering like the real thing, and huddle round with mugs of Barry’s tea and fresh soda bread from the local Beaufort shop. One night, we cracked open a bottle of Jameson (or two) and played cards till midnight, the rain pattering on the windows like a gentle applause. The views from the lounge were unreal in the gloaming; the lake turning inky, the Reeks silhouetted against a bruised sunset. It made you pause, you know? There I was, mid-40s and finally slowing down enough to appreciate how a stormy season can make a place feel alive, intimate – like Kerry was whispering secrets just for us.

A couple of mornings, we ventured out for blackberries along the lanes – fat, juicy ones begging to be picked, even if half ended up as purple stains on the kids’ hands. And that one golden afternoon? We walked right from the door down to the lake’s edge, boots squelching in the damp turf, watching herons pick their way through the reeds. No crowds, just us and the turning year.

Looking back, that October stay was spot on – the mellow light, the earthy scents, the way the weather kept us guessing but always drew us closer. Kerry in autumn? It’s not just a holiday; it’s a reset. We’re already plotting a return.