“Mummy, will you be sad to not be working on holiday?” my four-year-old daughter asked when I told her that we were all going to spend half-term at a secluded cabin on a “digital detox” with no mobile phones or laptops.
I had assumed that it would be my daughters, aged four and six, who would struggle with 72 hours away in the East Sussex countryside with no television or iPad, but instead they seemed more concerned about how their mother would survive it.
Unplugged is one of a growing number of “digital detox” companies that offer a complete break from electronic devices. It encourages guests to lock their phones in a wooden box on arrival and then seal the key in an envelope until the end of their stay.
Friends Hector Hughes, 27, and Ben Elliott, 28, quit their jobs last year to set up six cabins in six rural locations, all within two hours of London. Hughes was inspired after taking a two-week silent retreat in the Himalayas. Elliott, who describes himself as “far less Zen”, was clocking up 14 hours of screen time a day, and seeing Hughes return recharged, he realised that there was a gap in the market for digital detoxes in the UK.
There is no wi-fi in the cabins and they are so off-grid that you’re given a link to a Google Maps rather than a postcode to find them — and then a series of instructions.
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We are staying in Olive cabin in the pretty village of Brightling, in East Sussex. Olive is completely hidden from the road and only accessible by walking through fields. There are arrows nailed to trees to help guide us there, and when we finally find it in a clearing in the woods, it feels as though we’ve stumbled across a secret hideout. The children immediately declare it the “best holiday ever”.
The view from the cabin is what brought us here — and what makes it popular with Instagram influencers (who presumably put their phones away after uploading their photos). There is a vast window next to a double bed that overlooks the woodland, framing the landscape. This allows guests to sleep “under the stars” while remaining cosily indoors.
The retreat is not technically designed for families, but for one or two adults, plus a baby or toddler at a push. However, the owners are relaxed and say that they “have lots of families staying who are happy to squeeze in”. And it is a bit of a squeeze. The Scandi decor is ultra stylish, but not luxurious (it is compact and a little dusty), and the toilet is the composting variety. But its simplicity is part of the charm. Plus the log-burner and fire pit kept everyone toasty.
My original plan had been for a solo trip, a break from technology and humans. I was going to read novels and take long solitary walks through the countryside, but the childcare fell through and so here we are.
However, despite sleeping on a Thermarest mat on the floor while the children enjoy their glorious views and comfy bed above me, it is a wonderful family break.
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Unplugged has thought of all the reasons you may be tempted to turn your phone back on and found solutions to make it as unlikely as possible that you will be tempted to cheat.
There is a Polaroid camera, a stack of books on mindfulness, a compass, an Ordnance Survey map and instructions on how to walk to the local pubs. An old-school Nokia phone is provided in case you need to text Unplugged with a query.
The cassette player with a selection of retro tapes proves to be an unlikely highlight. In lieu of Spotify or Alexa, the children get an education in 1980s music. We have an impromptu disco to Madonna, the Police and Grace Jones as the sun sets outside.
During the day we take wintry walks in the woods to find toadstools and rabbits. It is liberating to have no distractions and uninterrupted chats free from phones — and even watches — buzzing. I have removed my Apple watch just to be sure.
When the children hold hands or jump in a muddy puddle, I instinctively reach for my phone. Without it, I am forced to “live in the moment”, as the mindfulness books in the cabin instruct.
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Scattered around Brightling are monuments and follies created by its former squire John “Mad Jack” Fuller, a wealthy and eccentric MP. Among them is the Sugar Loaf Folly built in the 1820s to win a wager. The story goes that Fuller made a bet that he could see the spire of St Giles Church in Dallington from his house. Returning home, he realised that he could not, so he hastily had a conical structure built to resemble it.
Only five minutes’ drive away by car is Fisherwood Farm, where we spend an afternoon feeding alpacas Ricardo, Ollie and Pepe and stroking a friendly rescue sheep called Mr Mitsie before eating warm homemade scones in the summerhouse (visit and cream tea from £20pp, under-fives free; fisherwoodfarm.co.uk).
There is plenty to do in the surrounding area too, including Bedgebury National Pinetum and Forest, with cycle trails and a Go Ape course, and the seaside town of Bexhill-on-Sea.
When I turn my phone back on after three nights, all is well. The detox has shown me that I am not so important that I must be contactable at all times and, since returning, I have tried to “unplug” one day a week, as much as possible.
Although as I packed up the cabin, I spotted two USB ports hidden behind a bookcase. Don’t tell anyone.
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Louise Eccles was a guest of Unplugged. Three nights’ self-catering for two from £390 (unplugged.rest)
