I’ll never forget the drive down to Saundersfoot last autumn – the leaves turning that gorgeous coppery gold along the A477, with the sea peeking out every now and then like it was teasing us. Me and the missus had the kids in the back, buzzing about beachcombing and pasties, when disaster struck just past Tenby: a rogue seagull decided our windscreen was its personal dive-bombing target. Splattered with what looked like yesterday’s chip supper, we pulled over laughing our heads off, wiping it down with baby wipes while the little ones chanted “gull attack!” It set the tone perfectly – a proper Welsh welcome with a side of chaos.

By the time we rolled up, the anticipation was electric. I’d been picturing this getaway for weeks, craving that crisp autumn air to shake off the summer slog. And blimey, first impressions didn’t disappoint. We’d booked a cracking first-floor apartment in a quiet spot, all light and airy with views over these lush communal gardens that were bursting with late-season colour – think fiery reds and oranges fluttering in the breeze. There was designated parking right outside, which was a godsend after the gull fiasco, and our own private balcony overlooking it all. Stepping inside felt like sinking into a warm hug: one big open-plan space with a slick kitchen for knocking up suppers, a dining bit for plotting the next day’s jaunts, and squashy sofas perfect for flopping in front of the telly. Ideal for our little crew, it was cosy without feeling cramped, like a proper home from home.

Autumn shaped every minute of it, turning the ordinary into magic. Saundersfoot beach was just a daft five-minute wander away, and oh, the joy of those low-tide strolls with the sand still warm underfoot but the waves crashing that bit wilder under slate-grey skies. We’d crunch through rock pools teeming with crabs scuttling for cover, the kids’ wellies splashing in puddles that hadn’t quite evaporated from morning mist. No summer crowds meant we had the place to ourselves – just us, a thermos of tea, and the seals barking from the headland. One afternoon, we timed it for low tide and wandered right across to Coppet Hall beach, picking blackberries along the path that were fat and tangy from the season’s chill. Back at the apartment, I’d fire up the oven for a roast, the balcony doors cracked open to let in that briny tang mixed with woodsmoke from someone’s bonfire down the way.

Evenings were pure bliss, wrapped in blankets as the sun dipped early, painting the gardens in that soft amber glow. We’d play board games by the light of a single lamp, the sea murmuring in the distance. There’s something about autumn here that strips it all back – no frantic sun-chasing, just proper family time, breathing deep with the salty nip sharpening your senses. I caught myself one night on the balcony, pint in hand, watching leaves spiral down, thinking how I’d been rushing through life like a man possessed. This place, this season, slowed me right down. Made me grateful for the simple stuff.

We squeezed in a visit to the harbour too, where the fishing boats bobbed under overcast skies, and nabbed fresh mackerel from the locals for tea – grilled with a bit of lemon, it was divine. Wandering the high street, we dodged the odd shower under candy-striped awnings, stocking up on fudge and warming pasties from the bakery. Saundersfoot in autumn? It’s not the postcard summer vibe, but that’s its charm – raw, restorative, and ruddy marvellous. We left with sandy boots, full bellies, and hearts a bit lighter. Can’t wait to go back.