I’ll never forget the drive down to Pembrokeshire last autumn – that crisp October weekend when the leaves were turning all golden and the air had that proper bracing bite to it. We’d piled into the car from Cardiff, me navigating with my dodgy phone signal, and about halfway there, disaster struck: a massive flock of sheep decided to stage a sit-in right across the narrow lanes near Narberth. There we were, stuck for half an hour, honking gently while the farmer herded them with his collie like it was some rural ballet. I laughed it off at the time, but secretly I was bursting for a wee – classic me, always underestimating the loos on these trips.

By the time we rolled into Saundersfoot, the sun was dipping low, painting the sea in those moody oranges and purples that only autumn can pull off. Spotting our beachside ground-floor apartment on the Strand, right in the heart of this charming seaside village, my heart did a little flip. I’d been buzzing with anticipation all week, imagining cosy evenings by the window with that promised sea view, and blimey, it didn’t disappoint. First impressions? Pure magic. We unlocked the door to this fabulous spot – all warm and inviting, with direct private access straight onto the beach. It’s the kind of place that screams perfect for a couple or small family, comfy for two or three but squeezing in up to five if you’re mates who don’t mind getting cosy. Shops and cracking restaurants just a stroll away, but we barely needed them with the sea lapping at our doorstep.

Autumn shaped every minute of it, turning what could’ve been a standard holiday into something properly soul-stirring. Mornings started with mist rolling in off the waves, the beach empty save for a few hardy dog-walkers. We’d grab coffee from a nearby café and wander Saundersfoot’s harbour, crunching through piles of seaweed and driftwood that the recent storms had chucked up. No summer crowds meant we had the sands to ourselves – perfect for building wonky sandcastles that the tide claimed before lunch. One afternoon, we ambled over to Coppet Hill, just a short clifftop hike away, where the bracken was glowing rusty red and the views across Carmarthen Bay stopped us in our tracks. The wind whipped up, turning cheeks rosy, but it felt alive, you know? None of that sticky heat; just fresh, salty gusts that cleared the cobwebs.

Evenings were the best bit, thanks to that seasonal glow. We’d fire up the oven for a roast – nothing fancy, just local crab from the village fishmonger and spuds – then flop on the sofa with the windows flung open to the sound of waves crashing under stormy skies. One night, a massive swell rolled in, and we watched the foam explode against the rocks from our prime vantage point. Hilarious moment: I tried ‘storm-chasing’ with my phone for Insta, only to get soaked when a rogue wave sneaked further up the beach than expected. Laugh? I nearly cried – my specs steamed up and everything.

Looking back, that weekend was a gentle nudge from the universe. Work had been manic, and I’d been rushing about like a headless chicken. But there, with autumn’s mellow light and the sea’s endless rhythm, I finally slowed down. Just me, my partner, and the coast reminding me that sometimes the best holidays are the quiet ones. If you’re after a Pembrokeshire escape that lets the season steal the show, this is your spot – go on, book it before winter wonders take over.