I’ll never forget the drive up to Fife last autumn – leaves turning that gorgeous coppery gold all along the A90, but wouldn’t you know it, I took a wrong turn just past the Forth Road Bridge and ended up in a queue of caravans crawling through Kinross. Typical me, always a bit too eager with the sat-nav. Still, by the time we trundled into Kelty, the anticipation was buzzing – visions of cosying up as the days grew shorter, proper autumn vibes with that crisp edge in the air promising misty mornings and early dusks.

Pulling up to the pet-friendly hot tub retreat near Loch Leven felt like stumbling on a hidden gem. It’s a well-presented house, just the ticket for our little crew – me, the other half, and our daft Labrador, Monty. Spacious family-friendly setup with private gardens that were already blanketed in fallen leaves, and that tempting hot tub steaming gently under a sky threatening rain. First impressions? Spot on. We dumped the bags and cracked open a bottle of red while Monty sniffed every inch of the garden, tail wagging like mad.

Autumn shaped the whole trip, really. Mornings started with that Fife fog rolling in off Loch Leven, just a short hop away – we’d wander down to the water’s edge, boots crunching on frosty grass, watching coots bob about and the herons stalking the shallows. The cooler weather made the open-plan living space pure magic: I’d play designated chef in the well-equipped kitchen, rustling up a hearty stew with local tatties and venison from the farm shop in Kelty, while everyone lounged nearby with mugs of tea, gossiping about nothing. Those long, laughter-filled dinners in the elegant dining area stretched out as the light faded early, perfect for sharing stories before flopping into the sitting area for a film – some daft rom-com that had us in stitches.

Evenings were the highlight, though. As the sun dipped behind the Lomond Hills, we’d pile into the hot tub, bubbles churning against the chill. Monty would plonk himself at the edge, eyeing us suspiciously like we’d lost the plot, steam rising into the starry night. One night, a gentle drizzle started – that fine Scottish mist – and instead of scarpering, we stayed put, sipping mulled wine and feeling all philosophical about how the season strips things back to the simple joys. I had a proper moment of self-reflection there, bubbles up to my chin, thinking how I’m always rushing about back home, but autumn here forced a slowdown – no manic summer crowds, just us and the turning world.

Days out were low-key, seasonal treats too. A brisk walk around Loch Leven’s Heritage Trail, the wind whipping up ripples on the water, leaves swirling like confetti. We popped into the RSPB reserve nearby, spotting whooper swans migrating south – Monty was beside himself, poor thing on his lead. Even a quick scoot to the Kelty community woods for blackberrying, arms scratched but jars full for crumble later. The shorter days meant we were back by tea-time, fireside chats turning into board games as the temperature dropped.

Looking back, that autumn escape was just what we needed – Fife’s moody beauty amplified by the season, turning a holiday let into proper home-from-home bliss. If you’re after that cosy reset, go now before winter bites. Monty’s already pawing at the door for round two.