Unique Autumn Staycation Ideas In The UK

The golden hues of summer were fading into autumn. Days growing shorter, the clocks turning back. The verdant lush greens now rich earth tones. A ballet dance of burnt orange leaves. A sip of pumpkin spice latte, frothed milk. Hair trailing down your back, whipped by frantic wind. The air cooler, less kind. Enveloped in a tulmotous storm. Sticky-sweet hazy summer days gone,  a rain cloud in its place. An umbrella splattered with rain-drops, in the hush of morning. Abandoning the world’s relentless chase, she’d embark on a short autumn break. Ambrosia for the soul, engulfed in tides of tranquility. But where would she go? She would embrace the beauty of the UK. Discovering unique autumn staycation spots, not far from home.

A caravan holiday park, tangled up in nostalgia. A blast into the past, memories revisited. Peering out the window, gasping at the sea. Tempestous waters wild and free. In turquoise blue, frothed with white. Waves crashing, seagulls squawking, families whooping. For this would be her UK holiday wishlist, staying in locations far beyond her wildest dreams. Days in the quirkest of accomodations. An experience that started in sleep. Boats, windmills, and barns too. Something quaint, out of the ordinairy. A guide that showed area highlights, that revelled in the beauty of the stay. A treehouse retreat, enveloped in fading green. Where branches intertwined, creating nature’s celestial dwelling space. Even the timber walls would smile with secrets. Where stories unfolded in a tapestry of words.

For she was a nomad of dreams. Through landscapes unknown, yet somehow familuar. Delving into travelling’s sweet embrace, stilling the yearning of her restless feet. In Cornwall, she found nature. Closing the door of her temporary caravan. Stepping into azure calm, eyes closed. The air biting, hair swept in angry winds. And yet, the mind was still. Mindful contemplation, furrowed lines smoothed. In West Wales, she would lose herself in love. Their mouths wide in rakish laughter, clip-clopping up wooden steps. A gasp, their very own rustic cabin. Watching the world go by. It was an escape from their everyday, a detox from reality. The only thing that mattered? The there and then. Sweet kisses stolen under the celestial littering of stars. Warm embraces on a unique autumn staycation.

After all, to travel was to discover. A chance to re-set, and be present in the moment. It just so happened that the UK had its very own staycation hotspots that drew her in. Something different, a castle retreat. Where she could go back in time, and revist history. Growing up, she revelled in the past. The intoxicating world of the Tudors drawing her in. The intricacies of the Medieval Court engulfing her hungrily. This time, she didn’t have her head in a book. For this was a reality. A history buff come to West Sussex, on her very own autumnal escape. A 19th century windmill in Norfolk was next. In a flint and brick built village, views of reed-beds and salt-marshes. The air tinged with the coast, a pebble and shingle beach. Chips wrapped in vinegar soaked paper, salt on fingers.

Her tour around the UK had barely scratched the surface. Portmeirion, Gwynedd clinging to North Wales. Technicolour buildings like an Italian village, sunny yellows, and duck-egg blues. The subtropical Scillies, an unspoilt archipelago just off the English Coast. Soft white sand beaches, and bobbing palms. It was hard to believe it was Cornwall, when it looked like the Carribean. And yet, its uncrowded beauty spoke for itself. Still, when it came to a unique autumn staycation, Northern Ireland had charm in spades. The Dark Hedges like Rata Forest in New Zealand. An eerie wood bereft of leaves. But she was getting ahead of herself. From a unique treehouse retreat, to staying on a boat, here were 7 quirky places to stay in the UK, that would redefine autumn travel.

Loee Caravan Park, Cornwall

A wave of nostalgia swept through her. A reminder of a childhood long gone. Teen years spent in a caravan site in West Wittering. Through the good times and bad, something she appreciated more now she was older. A caravan upgraded twice, a place her foster mum would visit often. Her own calm oasis, a place away from home. For A it had mixed memories. But there was two things that she loved. The first, a small farm on the camping site. Clucking chickens with feathers outstretched. A donkey in a spacious pen. Ducks,  and pigs, a horse too. The other? Being by the sea. Just a short walk away, a beautiful white sand beach with dunes stretching far and wide. Somewhere she could clear her head, as she took her foster sister for walks. Though caravan holidays reminded her of summer, in autumn they were just as powerful.

Looe caravan park would be no exception. A coastal retreat, just 6 minutes away from Looe Bay. On Cornwall’s stunning South Coast, near Polperro. Being here wouldn’t feel like being in the UK. Despite the quintessential Britishness of a caravan holiday, the surroundings would feel  different. The perfect place to explore the magic of Cornwall, a beautiful backdrop. Teal blue waters, the calm before the storm. Envisioning herself stripping back to basics. Letting the soothing lull of the waves wash over her in a meditative trance. But she was getting ahead of herself. She slipped into the modern Sunseeker Caravan, gazing at her surroundings. A great-value caravan with two bedrooms, minimalist in design. It was a far-cry from her usual flash of colour. But it would feel calming. Sinking into a brown fabric sofa, a plate of croissants before her. Washed down with orange juice, a hearty gulp. Hearing the bark of excitable dogs in nearby caravans.

Sure, some might not have classed a caravan as a unique autumn staycation. But to A it was. It was quirky because it brought up childhood memories. Somewhere she hadn’t stayed in a long-time. A new world, yet somehow familuar and easy. But as an adult? There were no rules. Sure, it was a family park. Children racing around a playground, families chatting at Kids Clubs. But solo travellers, and couples alike could come too. Swimming laps around a heated swimming pool. Sinking into the endless folds of water, rippling splashes. Spontaneous, fun, a detox from home. There would be live entertainment too. Somehow it reminded A of Haven, and Butlins. A cross between three worlds. The caravan, and the entertainment resorts all rolled into one. A restaurant too; Mac ‘N’ Cheese with garlic bread a classic. A Margherita slathered in Mozarella and Italian Herbs.

She ran to the window, and pulled up her cozy socks. A scarf around her neck, boots on her feet. A new pumpkin hued coat, a jumper tucked into colourful jeans. Though Looe caravan park was a joy in itself, the world outside beckoned. East Looe beach, a paradise in itself. Socks whipped off, barefoot on golden sands. A sheltered bay, a unique Banjo Pier. Welcoming holidaymakers and locals all year round. Looe Island, a small nature reserve. A place where only two humans lived. The rest? Birds nesting in thickets of trees. Sheep grazing grass-led slops. Seals frolicking on imperfect rocks. A patchwork of woodland, maritime grassland, sand, shingle and rocky reef. The last was something that would feature later. A castle. Specifically St. Catherine’s Castle. A turret ruin with tumbling steps. A pair of small artillery forts built by Henry VIII in the 1530s to defend Fowey Harbour. Yes, Loee was somewhere to write home about.

The Cabin At Erwain Escapes, Wales 

West Wales was an enchanting tapestry of green. Untamed, majestic, a tale of folklore, a realm of magic. The Black Mountain Range towering above isolated lakes. Impressive glacier-carved escarpments that kissed the azure sky. A land of water, sea and earth. Vallies that sang with stories from milennia past. The Pembrokeshire Coast, a magnificient sight. Where waves crashed with thunderous applause. Where cliffs soared, bathed in rare golden light. A would discover quaint villages, so full of charm. A world that was like stepping into the past. Embracing slow living, where time paused. All was calm here, as her laughter floated on the air, tinged with love.

It would be her first time in Wales, an immersion in nature. Rare bats mingling with birds, soaring through the trees. Red squirrels devouring pine seeds and hazelnuts. Seal pups cooing for their mothers. Dolphin’s gleaming bodies pirouetting into a symphony of liquid dreams. But there was more to Wales than just nature. Poetry in every step. History in every touch. But above all? Romance, love and unbridled passion. The perfect backdrop for a couple who had just entered their thirties to begin a new era. A place away from home, where their hearts could be free. But what would awaken them? The Cabin, at Erwain Escapes. Rustic, sustainable, one of a kind. An eco-friendly paradise drenched in wildflower meadows. The flowers would fade on the cusp of autumn. Yet, there was magic still.

A unique autumn staycation in a cabin, where charm prevailed. Quirky, yet traditional. A couple’s paradise and a solo travellers retreat. Where Danish Hygee met wild Welsh charm. In this imaginary scenario they had only each other, flowers, and birds for company. But it suited them. Tucked up in throws brought from home, thick jumpers over pj bottoms. Somewhere where they didn’t need to dress up or make an effort. Here, only coziness existed. Inside, an open-plan layout. A double-bed cradled by dark and mystical skies. A rug askew scattered across the floor. A kitchen that was somehow modern yet traditional. A bathroom that was glossy yet approachable, a window to nature outside. It was a warm hug in the shape of a quirky escape. A place where a poet could write their finest poetry. A birdwatcher’s heaven.

Even outside the cabin, there was magic to be found. Roasting vegan marshmallows on a wood burner. Snuggling down for warmth, smiles licking faces. But the sunken bath would be the biggest dream. Not a hot-tub, but an actual bath. A’s body would float under steam and mist, gazing up at the star-bannered skies. Inky black darkness, illuminated with silver. An Owl Twit-Twooing on the green sedum roof. A trout dancing in a rippled stream. And yet there was more. Glow worms twirling down country lanes, sunsets over verdant hillsides. Dragonflies flirting with Damselflies in sepia-soaked sunlight. But most magical of all?  The beauty of slowing down.

Strolling across beaches, and never-ending green open spaces. Wandering through Ancient Celtic Rainforests with cascading waterfalls. Hikes in Brecon Beacons National Parks, meditation at Pen y Fan. But the most appealing? Carmarthenshire’s castles. 600 to choose from, but 3 that told stories beyond 2023. Llansteffan Castle’s 12th century ruins. Commanding the entrance of the River Tywi. Dryslwyn Castle, on a sweeping hill. Forever associated with the Princes of Deheubarth.Newcastle Emlyn castle where Norman lords and Welsh Princes battled. All in all? West Wales was a treasure trove waiting to be opened. A unique autumn staycation that was wild yet oddly romantic.

The Ravendere Retreats Treehouse, Devon

She was reminded of a childhood friend. Who was considerably more well off than her. A stable, and a yard, a never-ending home. A garden where even the grass seemed richer than she would ever be. But despite this, the friend was humble, kind, and down to earth. If there was one thing that A would take from that garden? The treehouse, lovingly crafted. Small, but filled with wonder. Warmed by the glow of the setting sun, where imagination soared. Muffled whispers, and furrowed secrets. Cascading laughter bouncing around timbre walls. Though she could only remember snippets, she held onto those memories fondly.

Even as an adult, she wondered what it would be like. To experience a treehouse again, without the innocence of youth. An adult awakening, not a triumph of childhood flight. Not a teen sleepover, or a dream haven. Instead, it would be a family sanctuary, and a lover’s retreat. A place for grown ups (with or without kids). An enchanting realm burrowed in expansive trees. Climbing the ladder to emotional freedom. Baggage left at the door. A spiritual awakening as much as a lover’s bonding session. In amber hues, the couple would embark on another unique autumn staycation. Exploring Ravendere Retreats Treehouse on the North Devon Coast. It sat majestically under a canopy of mature beech trees. Leaves in an ombre-orange, fading into yellow. Mottled green, no longer vibrant. But it was picturesque, and secluded. A mindful break for two.

The outside as expected. A Scandi-style wooden structure, almost like a log cabin. Sheltered under trees that bristled in the wind. But was unexpected was the luxury touches. A far cry from the only treehouse she had been in. Trainers pitter-pattering on the deck. Slinking into lounge chairs, while they caught their breath. Here, there was a wood-fired pizza oven, and a gas barbeque. A dining table and chairs. Despite the modern amenities, it had rustic charm. Yet, the inside was unexpected. Ecletic interiors, tinges of cobalt blue. Drinking wine as they reclined on padded sofas. A chimney fireplace crackling with splints of wood. The most exceptional of all? A forest-view bedroom, with a roll-top bath. Clambering into lavender scented bubbles, spots of autumnal sunlight peeking through.

Despite its luxurious trappings, memories came flooding back. Taking them back to a time where the only thing that mattered was the here and now. Not clinging onto the past, drowning in trauma. Instead, living in the moment. Not caring what tomorrow would bring. It would feel magic being this present. The drones of the London city turned into humans again. No auto-pilot or zombie mode. No straggling, surviving on three hours sleep. Lying awake in the king size bed, they would talk for hours. Sometimes there was laughter, at others there were tears. Ups and downs in a cathartic space. No running away. Just facing problems head on.

The area had plump pickings too. Woolacombe’s beach where surfers came to frolick. Bound by the call of the untamed sea, gliding on battered boards. Here, the couple would have a boozy picnic. A rose wine with notes of blackberries and cherries. Sprinkled into gaping mouths. Laughing eyes, and smiling hands. Mouths like a thousand romance novels. The classics. Egg and cress in brown seeded bread. Vegan sausage rolls, and vegetable crudites. But unexpected editions too. Ful Medames in parsley, garlic, and chilli. Falafel generously slathered in houmous. Even though the autumn air was chilled, they walked to a nearby pub. The Grampus. Not for a home-cooked meal. But for a pint, and a chat continued. Just 10 minutes away from The Treehouse where solace was sweet.

The Kingfisher Houseboat, Pembrokeshire 

She would walk by the river often. Lulled by the splish-splash of ducks paddling by. Bemused by the geese picking fights with rogue seagulls. Where water cascaded in a ripple of serenity and grace. Dog-walkers, and runners, mingling with cyclists on the canal path. Houseboats, some freshly painted, others falling into disarray. Lending a quaint charm to East London, a break away from urban living. Sometimes there would be parties. Under the mellowing light of the autumn sun. A group of people chatting and laughing. Like something out of an advert. Except this was real life.

A grumpy cat whose face was pressed against a boat window. A dad and his baby, sharing a precious bond. Dogs squirming with excitement, children squealing with glee. Even as the light got darker earlier, the same magic remained. Yes, the houseboat had stoic charm in spades. The kind of place that was comforting, that embraced slow-living. A universal vessel of joy, that spread love everywhere it went. She knew some who stayed static. But there were others who would travel on their boats. How freeing it must have felt. To just pack up and go. To not make plans, but live in the moment. She was trying to get better at that. So when it came to a unique autumn staycation, The Kingfisher Houseboat was a no brainer.

It was breathtaking. The lake, a mirror, revealing nature’s art. A watery canvas where the most ethereal houseboat stood on the edge of a lake. In Pembrokeshire, where land met water. Whispering secrets of lush green hills, and crashing waves. Lemon-yellow sun painting golden hues. But she was getting ahead of herself. The houseboat was unlike no other. A wooden deck that stretched around the edge of the cabin. Swinging in a hammock, dangling toes in the water.  Watching Kingfishers with feathers dipped in celestial hues. Jewelled warriors gliding across the river in a heavenly dance. She would drift off, reading a historical fiction book, coaxed by the gentle willow breeze.

But it was more than just a pretty face. Sustainable, 100% powered off grid. A repurposed cabin, which was taking steps to improve its biodiversity. The planting of pond species to attract different water fauna. Replanting a thousand treees to replace ash die back. Still, eco-credentials aside, it was aesthetically pleasing too. Sitting in a dell by the water’s edge. A little chimney protruding from a tin roof. The interiors were inviting too. An open-plan living area with a modern wooden kitchen. She could imagine the meals they would cook here. Vegan steak drenched in a piquant peppercorn sauce. Creamy cheddar mash potato enveloped in veg. Garlic and chilli marinated broccoli. A cheesecake for dessert.

It had an element of shabby chic. A wood burner radiating heat, igniting passion. A rust-orange sofa with a small coffee table in front. Wicker chairs quaint and sweet, as the stream of the morning autumn sunshine flooded in. Yet, Pembrokeshire was just as enchanting. It seemed like she had fallen in love with Wales as of late. But how could she resist its allure, especially in autumn? Even as the last morsels of summer was engulfed by autumn, it was spellbinding.  The berries in the hedgerows, the smell of dwindling leaves. When it came to infamous attractions though, award-winning beaches were a given. A sunset on Telpyn Beach? Pure witchcraft, the light dappling on pebbles and sand. Freshwater West Beach, where surfers caught the early morning sun. Monkstone Beach, remote and quiet.

Cley Windmill, Norfolk

To A windmills were like meditation. Something whose very sound grounded you. Spinning in rhythmic grace, harnessing the wind’s enchanting chase. By day, the autumn leaves would twirl and dance with its whirring blades. But by night? Glowing starry guardians illuminating it in silvery light. The powerful but serene silhouette against the landscape coming alive. Windmills that had been alive a hundred years. That had seen births and deaths in the circle of life.There were few windmills that were still operating. But even those who lay dormant were magical in their own way. Telling a story of a different time. A painting of energy left behind.

A story that Cley Windmill knew all too well. Recently listed in ‘Four of the Best Places to Stay in Norfolk’ by the Telegraph’, its visitors fell in love at first sight. A Grade II listed 18th century tower mill, it was romantic, sentimental, and quirky. Was it any wonder that Cley made it into A’s Unique Autumn Staycation wishlist? Noted by The Times as one of the best British Autumn Breaks, it exuded quiet confidence and luxury. A place where couples, families and solo travellers alike, relished in its quaint retro kingdom. On the outside, a five story mill, with a dome shaped cap. A galley that was once winded by an eight-bladed fantail. Sails that were long dormant, silent watchers.

Instead, it stood majestic, watching geese glide through the reeds. Their wings creating wind tunnels in the air. She gazed into the hazy mirage of the sun, enveloping the salt marshes towards Blakeny Harbour in a golden light. The effect? Spectacular. Was it any wonder that the windmill was licensed to hold weddings here. Imagining a bride framed by reed beds consorting with birds. The groom whooping joyfully into the empty quay. But the view inside would be just as spectacular. What was once a windmill, had become a guesthouse with character. The ground floor, with a circular sitting room. Boasting sumptous antique furniture, and high-quality oak fittings. But it was the wood burning stove that felt nostalgic. Hearing the crackle of the fire, a warm flush in your cheeks.

Nine rooms waiting to be chosen. The Stone Room, a popular choice. A dramatic circular double bedroom, with a high ceiling. What was once the favourite room of James Blunt, when his family owned the windmill. The Wheat Chamber a picturesque tower room with glorious views across the river and marshes. But it was the The Barley Bin, that was A’s pick. Bathed in glorious natural light that streamed into the room. With views of the nearby village, that whisked you into a different time. Still, it was the wood-panelled bathroom that was the real treat. A bewitching claw-footed antique bath, where all your worries melted away. Though there were other rooms ( The Wheel Room, Dovecote, Boat House, Long House, River Room and Miller’s Room), Barley truly was something else.

It would be hard to drag themselves away from the mill, but beauty was on their doorstep. Cley Marshes, like a postcard. A nature reserve owned by Norfolk Wildlife Trust. Where birdwatchers could sneak into six hides with unparelleled views. Rare birds spotted, a real treat. A white-crowned sparrow from North America, a Pacific Swift. A Red-Necked Stint from Asia. A Rock Sparrow from Southern Europe. There was something soothing about watching birds be merry, lulled into a tranquil trance. But even the beaches were alive with activity. Salthouse Beach where Wintering Snow Buntings move in for winter. As an animal enthusiast Cley had truly stolen her heart.

Corsewall Lighthouse Hotel, Scotland

She always thought that lighthouses were silent guardians of the night. Watching, unwavering as waves crashed into the inky darkness. She imagined herself there on an autumn night, gazing from afar. On a shingle beach, blanket laid down, catching a glimpse in the distance. A towering figure even in low light, a fortress that had seen kingdoms come and go. Guiding ships through the night, into its safe embrace. A lighthouse kissed by a twilight glow. Sitting atop jagged rocks that were slowly crumbling into the ocean. Braving the roar of the sea crescendo, holding strong. There was something wild and free about lighthouses. The way that they exuded joy, yet in the same breath there was melancholy. A beautiful dichtomy, a contrast of emotions.

Corsewall Lighthouse Hotel was no different. A luxury 19th century in Scotland, on the northern tip of the Rhinns Peninsula. Unlike the windmill of the unique autumn staycation past, Corsewall was fully functioning. Its light glaring, beaming a warning for ships approaching the mouth of Loch Ryan. Standing adjacent to the Iron Age fort of Dunskirkloch, it had charm, romance and history. An enthralling hotel and restaurant in Dumfries & Galloway. On a clear night, the beams of several Scottish and Irish lighthouses radiated across the landscape. The effect? A mirror of beauty. Rippling reflections on the navy-black waters, streaked with blurry yellow.

She imagined stars weaving luminiscent tapestries across the skies. Though Corsewall was for everyone, To A it was an idilyic paradise. Where couples twirled and laughed, stealing honeyed kisses. Secretive hugs, eyes half-closed. Murmering sweet nothings, as the racocous wind whipped through their hair. She smiled, watching the couples around her fall in love again. Her friend made her come to, as she snapped out of her reverie.Wrinkling their noses as sea salt spray touched their lips, they went into their bedroom. The Lighthouse Suite, with panoramic views over the sea. Located in a former outbuilding, its two bedrooms stretched out luxuriously. A double room, and a twin room. Heads or tails. A kitchen with blue and white framed tiles, minimalist design.

But it was the restaurant that reeled them in. Admittedly, they were mostly going out to eat. Exploring the beauty of Kirkcolm and all it had to offer. But a light lunch, and drinks would be just peachy. Cheddar cheese sandwiches slathered in salty butter. Served with a crisp salad garnish. Another side of hummus, with juicy olives and toasted pitta bread. To drink? A decaf latte, sprinkled with cocoa powder. Smooth and velvety. With views down the coastline and across to Ailsa Craig and the Isle of Arran, it sent shivers down their spine. Was it any wonder that day trippers (and their playful pups) frequented Corsewall often? Granted, it was remote. But being so far-flung out, made it a treasure trove.

They hopped into a rental car, the friend driving, heading to Glenapp Castle, for dinner. They were blown away. A Goats Cheese Gnocchi, ladled with Cauliflower Puree, a Spiced Red Onion Bahji an unexpected touch. But even more surprising? The Rosemary Pickled Apple, and BBQ Baby Gem Lettuce. A dessert that followed even more exceptional. A Peanut Butter & Dulce De Leche Brownie layered with love. Inside a secret, a Glennap Valrhona Dark Chocolate & Creme Fraiche Ganache. Laced with Griottine Cherries and Vanilla Ice Cream. Southern Scotland was a treasure, where unique autumn staycations danced on fallen leaves. It wasn’t just a culinary hotspot. But a history lover’s fantasy too. Culzean Castle, with its seven infamous ghosts, haunting the grounds. Beaches, woods, gardens and even an adventure playground, a castle beyond compare.

Amberley Castle, Sussex 

If A could travel back in time, where would she go? It was an easy question. Three historical eras that A was infatuated with from a young age. Medieval Europe, Tudor England, and Ancient Egypt. Three eras with strong women who defied societal expectations. Who changed the course of history. Nefertiti, and Cleopatra. Eleanor of Aquataine and Anne Boleyn. She would imagine herself with a French hood laced with pearls, framing brownish-black curls. A sumptous velvet gown, with brocade trimmings in black and gold. Walking the halls of the UK’s most famous castles, long sleeves lined with fabric. As much as she liked living in 2023, there was something sentimental about the idea of time travel. Ever since she could remember, immersing herself in history came naturally to her.

She had a special connection to Amberley Castle. A sight that her foster mum drove past every weekend, as they made their way down to the caravan. Looking outside the car window, marvelling at its stone turrets. Sweeping into the cloudy skies, a glimmer of sun trying to peek out. She never saw it at night. But she could imagine how beautiful it would be. Moonlight spilling, illuminating the castle grounds. Welcoming in weary ghosts that were once so full of life. A place where history, the supernatural, and nature came together in harmony. Over 900 years of memories shared and forgotten, where rooms harkened back to a bygone era. Gifted to Bishop Wilfrid in 683 AD by Caedwalla, the King of Sussex, it still had original features. The castle’s current buildings made from a timber-framed hunting lodge built in 1103 by Bishop Luffa. It wasn’t until 1989 though that the castle transformed into the hotel that stands today.

Staying in a castle had been on her bucket list ever since she was a little girl. Being able to touch walls that were framed with the past. Catching glimpses of a world that she had never seen before. She came into the castle grounds, feeling like a royal herself. A green floral satin ballgown with green velvet bow heels. Clip-clopping on the gravel outside. An extravagant floral headdress, contrasting against the fading green of the landscape. Soon, it would transform into rust-orange and yellow tones. Like the world was seen through a sepia lens. It had been raining, the patio soaked. Yet, like a flower, she bloomed. Into gardens meticolously landscaped, hoping to catch a sighting of the infamous snow-white peacock. But alas, it wasn’t meant to be. Still, she couldn’t be too sad. The grounds featuring a tennis court, 18 hole putting course, and a croquet lawn beneath the battlements.

Inside, was just as mystical. Antiques and rich draperies in bedrooms that were lavish. Lattice windows, and beamed ceilings. Curtained four-posters. A taste of luxury in the Premier Deluxe Rooms, boasting original features. Arundel was the bedroom chosen, with majestic Cathedral windows, illuminating in the autumn sun. An original granite fireplace, a touch of whimsy. Though the bedroom was everything and more, it was the bathroom that would steal hearts. A seperate walk-in shower and bath waiting to be explored. Slathered in decadent bath lotions provided, a clearer mind and soul. Slipping on a fluffy robe and slippers, she smiled. It was like being home.

Her stomach grumbled, it was time for food. The restaurant was well known for its delicacies. The Queen’s Rooms, swathed in red. With a barrel-vaulted ceiling dating back to the 12th century. Sweet and savoury beetroot wrapped around goats cheese. Lined with charcoal and red vein sorrel. BBQ celeriac with pearl barley, brussel sprouts and turnip. But it was the private dining menu in The Green Home, that was truly exceptional. Creamy Pumpkin Soup, with autumnal flavours. Laced with cinnamon and nutmeg, finished with sour cream and chives. A parmesan risotto cooked perfectly. A side of honey roasted root vegetables, perfectly presented. But the dessert? A winner. Vanilla Crème Brulee, showered with decadent hazelnuts. A scoop or two of caramel ice cream.

Outside Amberley? Scenic vistas awaited. Playing penny slot machines to win a prize at Bognor Regis Pier. Whooping as seagulls circled her on the uneven pebble beach. It reminded her of her teen years, travelling to Chichester, and Bognor, just a stone’s throw away from West Wittering. Burgers slathered in creamy mayo, chips laced with salt and vinegar. But there was more to Sussex than good food. Fishbourne Roman Palace, the largest Roman home in Britain. Strolling around the recreated gardens, marvelling at the largest collection of mosaics in situ in the UK. Slowing down at WWT Arundel Wetlands Centre, on a boat safari. Kingfishers, and rare water voles co-existing in symmetry. The greatest sight of all? South Downs Way walk, past rich chalk grasslands, and ancient woodland. A slice of pre-history.

As night fell, and she sank into her own bed, she slipped into sleep. Envisioning the crisp embrace of autumn’s kiss. Where fallen leaves danced with the wind, in Wales, Scotland, Sussex and beyond. History tours, and an immersion into nature. A culinary paradise, and an animal lover’s daydream. Through narrow streets of ancient cities maze, wandering lost into seaside towns, and remote hamlets. Winding woodland paths, and canal river walks. Sitting by crackling fireplaces, soothing as a lullaby. A traveler finding solace in the beauty of the UK’s staycation scene. No better time of year than autumn. A pause in time, a seasonal transition,  pure and bright.  Whispered secrets temporary memories in the shadow of night. Unbridled laughter clinging to day. In a sleep cocoon where time was abstract. Descending further and further into surrealism. Unseen threads weaving autumn lore.

And then she woke up, and it was all a dream…

What Unique Autumn Staycations Have You Been On?

*Disclaimer 

Please note this is a collaborative post but all thoughts are my own and are not affected by monetary compensation.