I’ll never forget the drive up to Anglesey last autumn – the leaves were turning that gorgeous coppery gold, carpeting the A55 like nature’s own welcome mat. Me and the family piled into the car from Cheshire, kids buzzing in the back with crisps and iPads, husband navigating with his usual optimism. About halfway, disaster struck: a rogue flock of sheep decided to stage a sit-in on the road near Bangor. We sat there for 20 minutes, engine idling, watching the farmer coax them back with a sheepdog that looked straight out of a film. “This is Wales for you,” I laughed, secretly thrilled by the proper rural chaos. It beat motorway drudgery any day.

By the time we rolled into Benllech, the late afternoon sun was dipping low, casting this magical amber glow over the bay. I’d been anticipating the place all week – scrolling photos, imagining cosy evenings after bracing walks. Pulling up to our detached cottage on the outskirts, just 0.2 miles from the village buzz, my heart did a little flip. First impressions? Spot on. It screamed perfect family escape: spacious for the eight of us (though we were a cosy six), with that inviting living/dining room where we immediately dumped bags and cracked open a bottle of fizz around the table. The woodburning stove hadn’t even been lit yet, but you could feel it’d be a godsend come chillier nights.

Autumn shaped everything about the stay, turning ordinary moments into pure seasonal magic. Mornings started in the kitchen/diner, that sleek breakfast bar loaded with porridge and bacon sarnies, steam rising as rain pattered the windows – classic North Wales weather, keeping things moody and real. We’d bundle up and head out, the air crisp with that salty tang from the Menai Strait. Benllech beach was a five-minute stroll, its sands littered with driftwood and seaweed, waves crashing under slate-grey skies. The kids built epic castles that the tide claimed dramatically, while I crunched through fallen leaves along the coastal path towards nearby Traeth Bychan, spotting oystercatchers darting about. No summer crowds, just us and the wind whipping up a proper appetite.

Evenings were the highlight, all wrapped in autumn’s embrace. We’d gather in the living room, stove roaring with logs we’d grabbed from a local farm shop, toasting marshmallows and playing board games till eyelids drooped. One night, a proper gale howled outside, rain lashing the panes, but inside it was pure hygge – mulled cider steaming, fairy lights twinkling. I caught myself reflecting mid-laugh: rushing through life back home, always chasing the next thing. Here, the slowing season forced a pause, reminding me holidays aren’t about ticking boxes, but savouring the quiet joys, like watching the sunset bleed orange over the bay from the garden.

We wandered Benllech’s high street too, nabbing pasties from the bakery and fish suppers from the chippy – autumn portions felt twice as hearty. A gentle hike up to nearby Castellior cliffs capped it off, bracken turning rusty underfoot, seals barking from the rocks below. No two days were the same, all thanks to that fleeting season. Leaving felt bittersweet, but we’re already plotting a winter return for more stove-side bliss. Anglesey in autumn? Absolute dream.