LDRxLDN: Bonding with Badgers

Sneaky little buggers.

With my better half based in London, I get to see the city wear a different look with each passing season and, as I've already mentioned, London in bloom is something spectacular. Having said this, as amazing as London is, I'm always on the lookout for getaways to new bits of England and Europe that'll end up becoming amazing experiences for us both.

On my last trip, I think I nailed it and found the perfect little adventure; I'm so excited to tell everyone about it - it was so unbelievably good that I'm recommending it to everyone as an "off-the-beaten tracks" thing to do just one hour from London.

And this insanely amazing thing?

Going off the grid, completely. No, I'm not crazy. This is precisely what we did: we swapped electricity, internet access, running water and all those trappings of modern life for fresh air, organic food, long walks, hand in hand, in the countryside and an unparalleled view of the stars at night.

Only an hour from London, lies an idyllic haven of peace, joy and hygge: the Wriggly Tin Shepherds' Huts.

Brace yourself, this is what it is. Life in the middle of a field, with no electricity, running water, heating, or - gasp - internet. Sounds scary, right? In truth, this turned out to be the best weekend I've had in months.

I was looking for a spring-time getaway and was considering a hotel stay in London. I am so very glad that I opted for this instead!

After our epic breakfast at Darwin Brasserie, we were ready for some real nature and jumped on the train in Waterloo. In no time, we were leaving behind the steel frames and grass walls of the city and plunging ourselves deeper into the greenery of the South Downs natural reserve.

When we reached Wriggly Tin... our hearts leaped. Here was the vibrant green of the grass, with cheeky yellow daffodils poking their way up. Surrounded by a bosquet of trees, where badgers regularly assemble, the campsite felt as secluded and serene as could be. And in it, were 5-6 adorable pastel-coloured shepherds' huts - the sort that they used over 100 years ago - all cleverly fitted out with everything that we needed to be cosy and comfortable (cue smile emoji).

Alex, the entrepreneur who masterminded this glamping concept, explained to us that we might catch badgers pooping around the campsite, and led us to our Hut; a peppermint one named 'Butser', situated at the far end of the site.

The way it was fitted out made it feel cosy rather than claustrophobic, and reminded me of Scandinavian concepts of space used cleverly. Butser came with the comfiest bed I've slept on; enamel and tin utensils, a wood-fired stove inside and campfire outside, kerosene-lit hurricane lamps, candles, and - most importantly - marshmallows.

Switching into hutwife mode, I set the stove going while Kris worked on the fire outside. Soon, the hut was huffing and puffing away, and we were heating water in a rustic kettle to prepare the mandatory gallons of tea and hot chocolate.

What do you do when you have marshmallows and a fire at hand? Stick them in the fire. No innuendos. Just gooey goodness.

Within minutes of arriving here our heads felt clearer.

We found that this place is perfect for calibrating one's thoughts. Everything moves on you-time: freed from distractions, you do everything at your own pace, chatting with each other, drinking tea, reading a book, adding the occasional log to keep the fire in the stove going.

Once we'd stocked up on wood and water, we decided to walk down to the closest village, Hambledon. This hike took us through green fields, vineyards, winding streets and cobbles.

By the time we returned to Wriggly Tin, the sky, and thankfully not our Hut, was on fire. Orange and pink streaked with violet; the sort of colours I didn't think England was capable of...

As night fell, the clearing became completely quiet, except for the crackling of woodfires, snatches of laughter from the Hut at the other side of the camp, the whisper of trees and cheeky hooting owls. No badger in sight though. As I lit the candles and hurricane lamps, hanging one outside our hut, I thought of bygone times, of the solitude that shepherds must have felt as they stranded themselves in miles of greenery to tend to their flocks.

I imagined that the friendly owls were calling out to the fairy-folk that lived in the woods, alerting them that it was time to come out and party in the starlight. Yes, I've grown up reading Enid Blyton. I cannot describe the complete peace and happiness that we felt at the moment. We were in each other's company, away from the incessant demands of people and work. We really couldn't ask for more.

It was too cold for this Mauritian to venture outside, despite the attraction of a cheerful fire (and much to the disappointment of the Lithuanian boyfriend), so we had dinner inside - a rustic crofter's pie for me, a hearty shepherd's pie for him, with Chantenay carrots and runner beans that we upscaled with some excellent Riesling from Fortnum and Mason.

^Shit low light photo but you can see the attention to detail given by the owner, Alex: he drew a little flower on my pie to indicate it's veggie.

It was barely nine, I think, when the excess of fresh air, the dim lights and the cosiness of the place got to our head, and, yawning profusely, we sank into the comfy pillows, to have the best sleep of our lives.