Devon Dens – Away for the Weekend!

I went away for the weekend. Yes I did.

This “away-weekend” had been planned months ago. Some friends and I were going off-grid for twenty four hours, to eat crisps and cheese, drink wine and cover genital-shaped stones in multi-coloured felt. As you do.

The resort of choice was to be a cabin complex in the woods, with no wifi, no telly and a composting toilet. Sounds ominous, I know. But a weekend away is a weekend away.

Big Seymour was told to diarize the children. The Four Little Seymours would be under his jurisdiction for a while. He was having an enforced break from the building work. There was to be no tinkering.

Well, as many mums know, a weekend away doesn’t come easily. There were bound to be obstacles in my path before the off-grid shenanigans could go ahead. These obstacles started to show themselves three weeks ago…

“Oh crap!” I declared, one Saturday afternoon whilst visiting Grandma E. “Oh no! I think I have made a massive mess-up…” For, at that moment, I realised that the arrival of Number One’s French Exchange student was scheduled for the same day I was to be in deepest Devon, incommunicado. A furious bout of mental calculations and reorganisations followed, and the responsibility for the French Exchange student was handed over to that great francophile and fluent Fringlish speaker (imagine Del Boy at his worst) ,Big Seymour himself… I was a little worried.

The week of our planned excursion arrived, and from the outset, I began to wonder if this long-awaited adventure would ever come to fruition. Aside from calendar mess-ups and double bookings, there were plenty more hurdles to jump over.

Firstly, Little Seymour Number One was full of snot. I thought she was pulling a fast one, and sent her to school, only to realise the error of my ways when she texted me to say that people were running for the hills and avoiding her like The Plague. Then, Boy Seymour and I had to go to London so that he could have electric needles poked into his legs. After such an ordeal, the poor chap was exhausted and subsequently came down with Number One’s head cold, rendering him prostrate for a bit. On a personal level, I had a door slammed in my face – literally- which made me question the meaning of my own existence.

Then, as the week progressed, Mother Nature added a sprinking of her own mischief with snow: mild snow where we live, but feck off gurt great heavy white stuff in Devon, where I was intending to be. I was not sure that my little Polo had what it took to tackle an avalanche.

Snow, headaches, abuse and unsuitable vehicles aside, I remained positive. I made contingency plans and tried not to panic.

Miraculously, the hurdles were not insurmountable. I made it! I parked (abandoned) my little Polo in the snow outside a friend’s house in a village just north of Dartmoor, from whence we planned to do the rest of the journey in her aptly-named Yeti…or we would, once we had ascertained that her daughter wasn’t too seriously damaged after a bump to the head from sledging that morning, and Sainsbury’s had brought the rations they’d failed to deliver the night before, due to the adverse weather.

In hindsight, it probably wasn’t the best weekend to be going off-grid.

We had no idea what to expect, but when we pulled up at Devon Dens, the trials had clearly been worth it. Our cabin was warm – it was like The Shed, only much nicer. The water was hot, the decor – comfy and stylish, and the book selection was right up my street (“Eating Animals” being a particular favourite). At this point, off-grid was really rather acceptable as the snow piled up outside, creating fascinating vistas out of the double glazed windows as the sun set in the glistening valley below.

We had a fabulous eco-friendly break, learning a great deal about the art of composting – and not just of the food waste variety – there was great hilarity on Saturday night as we tried to understand just how a composting toilet works. As it turns out, it’s really very simple… I was imagining the cabin’s sophisticated-looking khazi having some sort of twisty/turny mechanism sending poo and sawdust down a chute and into a cartridge that could be extricated cleverly from the back of the bathroom and then emptied… not the case. Why complicate things when you don’t need to?

As predicted, our eco break went way too quickly. Before long, I was back at my abandoned Polo, ready for the off, only to discover it was as dead as a dodo. Panic set in. Would I make it home? The Four Little Seymours would survive without me, but I had responsibilities to see to, a French student to meet and blogs to write!

A couple of jump starts later, I set off down the slushy lane, terrified of junctions where the Polo might stall, gripping tightly to the steering wheel in case handling it too loosely might result in a lack of concentration, and thus engine failure and thus being stranded.

My journey home did, however, go very smoothly. The weather was glorious! The roads were dry and the traffic was light. I had no radio – the Polo’s luxuries are breaking one by one – but as I pulled into The Funny Little Bungalow’s driveway four hours later (having had several very interesting, in-depth pro-vegetarianism discussions with myself the whole way) I was greeted by a pack of delighted Little Seymours throwing themselves on my lap like ecstatic, tiddling puppies before the engine was even off. They missed me – how lovely!

The Shed, I must add, was tidy. Mini presented me with some junk modelling, Number Two had tidied my clothes drawer. Big Seymour had a roast in the oven, and he’d even made packed lunches… clearly I must go away more often.

It didn’t take long for normality to resume. By seven thirty the next morning, Boy Seymour was going puce and yelling like a banshee at Mini Seymour about something insignificant. She shrieked back. A slanging match ensued. I put my head in my hands, then declared (forgive me) that I hate it here. Which I don’t. I just can’t abide the arguments. And now I feel guilty.

But the guilt was worth it! Two nights with great friends in a fabulous barrel top wagon courtesy of Devon Dens is definitely something I’d like to repeat. Such cosiness! Such freedom! And being eco-friendly, it’s one less thing to feel guilty about. Which is always nice.

Devon Den holidays – thoroughly recommended! http://www.devondens.co.uk/devon-dens-off-grid-eco-cabins.html

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