‘I was craving a break from routine’
After months of working from home, would a tech-free holiday be enough to reboot Emma Featherstone’s relationship?
Iwasn’t prepared for this,” said my boyfriend, Sean, unpacking his book, retreating to the bed and turning towards the wall. We had just arrived at a shepherd’s hut (a static trailer, to be precise, thoughtfully kitted out with a king-size bed, shower room, flushing toilet, fridge and wood-burning stove) on a family farm in Oxfordshire – our home for the weekend.
It was a chance to reset our relationship after months of homeworking, yet I’d already slipped on the first stile of this country path: communication. I’d booked us in for a weekend without noisy neighbours (bar the odd fox howl), or technology. Clearly the term “offgrid” – meaning not relying on the national electricity supply – hadn’t summed this up for Sean.
Key to my plan was stripping us of Wi-Fi. Phones, TV and laptops had featured too heavily in our lockdown lives. Work chores blighted early mornings and seeped into the night. I was mostly to blame. Keeping up with the news was vital to my job; I checked my email and instant chat messages near constantly – then complained when Sean occasionally glanced at a football bet mid-conversation.
To make the most of our break, I spoke to Ammanda Major, a sex and relationship therapist and head of service quality and clinical practice at Relate. Among her tips was actively listening to your partner; I took heed.
The first five months of tough restrictions saw Sean and me – like couples across the UK – spend more hours per week in each other’s company than ever before. In our one-bedroom flat, we were privy to one another’s conference calls, deadlines and mini crises. We were lucky. There weren’t any children to homeschool. None of our family or friends were taken seriously ill by the virus. We both remained employed. I was always grateful we had each other.
Yet there were challenges. More than once, I found myself crying uncontrollably at our shared desk; I’d never done this in the office. He was the only thing I wanted to cling on to, with the rest of life at that time feeling inescapable. I wasn’t alone in experiencing a hit to my mental wellbeing during Covid: around a third of people surveyed said their mental health has got much worse since March 2020, according to charity Mind.
Sean was left to console me in those moments; the only one I could physically hold on to. But I never feared that the stresses of Covid could lead to us splitting up. Sean’s sturdy patience, northern humour and kindness smooth away any fault lines. Two months after restrictions were lifted, however, it was clear that while our life largely remained the same, our relationship had somewhat altered. Plus, the post-pandemic rush of engagements and pregnancies among our peers led to tricky comparisons.
I was craving a hassle-free break from our routine. Fat Pheasant Shepherd Huts, which was set up in May 2021, answered that desire. We arrived after nightfall. A lack of light pollution was ideal for star watching, but did briefly lend an eerie feel – particularly given the intermittent rustles in the hedgerows.
When we woke the next morning, however (phones firmly switched off), there was a fresh perspective. The sun gradually brightened our bedroomcum-kitchen. Each window framed the view of gently rolling fields and a thick copse from which birds occasionally flitted. Sean had forgiven my failure to explain adequately that screens would be packed away on this trip.
I headed outdoors, layering a coat over my pyjamas, and set about lighting fires outside our hut – one for the wood-fired hot tub, one for the cooking pit (the huts also come with an outdoor gas barbecue). From our “Homemade Jam” breakfast hamper (£10), we tucked into marmalade on sourdough; a “Big Veg” hamper (£20) sustained
After months in survival mode, this simple trip helped us get back to enjoying one another
us come dinner. There are plenty of other treats within – and add-ons for – each hamper and the contents are locally sourced.
Around an hour later, we were soaking up the rural peace while submerged in the tub. Mercifully, we had yet to turn into one of those long-married couples who have run out of things to say.
Dried and ready, we headed for the nearest pub, marked on an OS map. We passed a field of rust-and-white-coated Highland cattle and sturdy Wiltshire Horn sheep; a well-fed pheasant scuttled along our path. Kunekune pigs, emus, donkeys and hens were among the other creatures to spot on the farm.
Soon our shaky map-reading skills took us off-route through a playground in the village of Shotteswell (made up of winding lanes and filled with stoneclad mansions), where we took turns on a zipline and admired a hovering buzzard. Our mini ramble felt like an adventure. After traipsing back along the footpath, which ran through freshly turned fields, we arrived at the Falcon pub in Warmington. Thick layers of dirt had to be scraped from trainers before entering.
During our first phone-free meal in 18 months, hunger was satiated with a steak burger and a mushroom, spinach and goat’s cheese quiche. We strolled back across the fields as the sun began to fade. The autumn glint coated the long stretches of flat land, which were occasionally punctuated by the dip of a valley. Jackdaws pecked at the prepared soil as we began chatting about our “plan” for the future.
I focused on Sean’s descriptions of his work projects and cricket team. Ammanda’s words had stuck with me: “The weft and weave of a relationship is taking an interest in each other.”
Since our trip, we’ve both been better at really listening as we talk. It may be basic, but it’s easy to forget when you have spent the best part of 18 months entirely in each other’s company. After months in survival mode, this simple trip helped us get back to enjoying one another – and looking to the future.
Fat Pheasant Shepherd Huts reopen on April 1 2022. From £150 per night, three nights minimum (07969 951168; fatpheasanthuts.com)