I’ll never forget the drive to our holiday spot near Gort in County Galway – we’d set off from Shannon Airport full of that buzzy anticipation, windows down, dreaming of cosy fires and endless cups of tea. It was mid-autumn, you see, that golden shoulder season when Ireland’s west coast puts on its most painterly show: trees ablaze in copper and rust, the air crisp enough to pink your cheeks but not so biting you’d curse the weather gods. About halfway there, disaster struck – or what passed for it on a family road trip. My other half, bless her, had plugged the satnav into her phone, but in the excitement, she’d somehow routed us via a narrow boreen that turned into a muddy quagmire after a morning shower. We slid to a halt, wheels spinning like a cartoon character’s, laughing our heads off as we reversed out. “Typical us,” I chuckled, scraping mud off the tyres with a stick. But it only ramped up the arrival buzz – nothing like a minor kerfuffle to make you appreciate the destination more.

Pulling up to this charming single-storey gate lodge, the last remnant of some grand old estate, we were smitten straight away. Tucked into the countryside with heaps of parking, it screamed antique charm without feeling fusty – think welcoming bedrooms on the ground floor, three in total: two comfy doubles and a twin, each with their own en-suite showers and all the mod cons. No stairs to lug cases up, which was a godsend after our mudbath detour. Stepping inside felt like slipping into a warm hug, perfect for autumn’s shorter days.

The season shaped everything, really. Mornings started with mist rolling over the fields like a soft blanket, coaxing us out for walks along the nearby towpaths of the old canal – that time of year, the water’s edged with fiery leaves, and the odd heron would eye us suspiciously as we crunched along. We’d pop into Gort, just a stone’s throw away, for fresh scones from the bakery, the streets quiet and golden under overcast skies that promised rain but rarely delivered more than a drizzle. Afternoons were for pottering in the lodge’s garden, watching squirrels hoard nuts while we sipped soup from the slow cooker – autumn’s bounty of root veg and apples made every meal feel hearty and right.

Evenings? Magic. As the sun dipped early, painting the sky in bruised purples, we’d light the fire (plenty of logs stacked ready) and hunker down with board games or a bit of telly, the rain pattering gently on the roof like nature’s lullaby. One night, staring into the flames, I had a proper moment of reflection – here we were, miles from the daily grind, no emails pinging, just the simple joy of being together in this tucked-away haven. Life’s too short not to chase these pockets of peace, especially when autumn wraps it all in such vivid beauty.

A quick jaunt to nearby Coole Park was the cherry on top – those autumn woods alive with colour, the famous autograph tree whispering literary ghosts, but we didn’t linger long; the lodge’s pull was stronger. By week’s end, we were hooked on how the season turned a simple stay into something poetic. If you’re after that cosy Irish escape, chase the falling leaves to Galway’s heart – you won’t regret it.