We’d barely left the ferry when the satnav decided to play silly beggars, sending us down a single-track lane that ended at a farm gate rather than the cottage. By the time we’d reversed past a very unimpressed sheep and found the right turning, the October drizzle had turned into proper rain and our boots were already soaked. Still, the moment we pulled up outside the little whitewashed 6 Bed Cottage in Pembroke Dock, the mishap felt worth it. The front door opened straight onto a cosy living room where the wood-burner was already crackling, and the smell of woodsmoke mixed with the faint salt tang drifting up from the beach below.

October in Pembrokeshire does that to you; it strips away the summer crowds and leaves the place looking a bit windswept and honest. The light that afternoon was that soft, silvery grey you only really get on the coast this time of year, and it made the cottage feel even snugger. We dumped our bags, changed into dry socks, and wandered the short path down to the shingle. The tide was out, revealing long stretches of wet sand dotted with bladderwrack and the occasional crab shell. A couple of locals were walking their dogs, and we nodded hello without the usual tourist small-talk; in autumn everyone seems happy just to nod and carry on.

Back at the cottage the kitchen proved handy for the sort of meal you cook when it’s already dark by half-five. We fried up some local sausages and threw together a pan of beans while rain tapped against the window. The six bedrooms meant we could all spread out without tripping over each other, yet the sitting room still felt small enough that conversation carried easily from sofa to armchair. Someone unearthed a dusty pack of cards and we played until the fire needed another log.

Later, lying in bed with the window cracked, I could hear the waves and the occasional mournful hoot of a ferry heading out. It struck me that we’d come expecting dramatic cliff walks and golden beaches, yet the real gift of an off-season stay was the quiet rhythm of early nights, second cups of tea, and the simple pleasure of being warm while the weather did its worst outside. The satnav mishap already felt like part of the story rather than a nuisance; sometimes getting slightly lost is the quickest way to feel properly arrived.