I’ll never forget the drive down to Saundersfoot last autumn – the leaves were turning that gorgeous coppery gold, carpeting the lanes like nature’s own welcome mat. We’d piled into the car from Bristol, kids buzzing in the back with crisps and iPads, me navigating via a dodgy sat-nav that decided halfway through Narberth to have a midlife crisis and reroute us down a muddy farm track. Cue 20 minutes of reversing past bemused sheep, hearts in mouths, laughing till we cried. “Typical us,” I muttered, but honestly, it set the perfect tone for a proper Welsh getaway – a bit chaotic, but all part of the charm.

Pulling up to our cosy two-bed cottage just outside the village, right on the edge of Saint Florence, I felt that proper holiday buzz kick in. It was one of those classic Pembrokeshire spots – low-key, welcoming, with bay windows that framed the rolling fields like a postcard. First impressions? Spot on. The autumn light was slanting low across the garden, picking out the last stubborn blackberries clinging to the hedges, and there was this crisp, sea-tinged air that hit you straight away. We dumped the bags and cracked open a flask of tea, just soaking it in. No crowds, no rush – just us and the mellow hues of the season.

Autumn shaped every bit of our stay, turning what could’ve been a standard break into something magical. Mornings started with frosty walks along the clifftop paths towards Saundersfoot beach, barely a soul about. The sea was that moody slate-grey, waves crashing with a dramatic whoosh that drowned out all worries. We’d crunch through fallen leaves on the trails around Saint Florence, spotting fungi popping up like little umbrellas after the rain – conks, waxcaps, the works. The kids loved it; they turned into mini explorers, filling pockets with conkers from the horse chestnuts by the old church.

Days out were pure seasonal gold. A scoot over to Heatherton World of Activities – less than a mile away – for go-karting under overcast skies, hoodies zipped up against the chill, followed by hot chocolate that tasted like heaven. Evenings, we’d hunker down in the cottage with a roast from the local butcher (venison, naturally, with all those stags about), watching the mist roll in from Tenby’s sands. One night, we timed it for sunset over Coppet Hill – the sky exploded in oranges and purples, reflecting off the wet sand like liquid fire. Blew me away, that did.

Of course, there were quieter moments too. One blustery afternoon, rain lashing the windows, I sat with a book and a cuppa, listening to the wind howl through the valleys. Made me reflect on how we’re always chasing summer sun, but autumn’s got this depth – slower, more introspective. Reminded me to slow down, appreciate the now. The kids built dens from driftwood on the beach, faces windswept and rosy, while I pondered how a daft sat-nav detour led to this.

We left with muddy boots and full hearts, already plotting a return. Saundersfoot in autumn? It’s not just a holiday; it’s a reset button wrapped in rustling leaves and salty breezes. If you’re after that, pack your wellies and go.