My name is John James and I am addicted to social media.
A depressing confession no doubt, but one that’s likely familiar to a lot of similarly ill people mindlessly scrolling through this very article.
According to Ofcom‘s Online Nation report shows that the average Briton spends four hours and 20 minutes online each day – around a quarter of their waking lives. We are all diseased – but is there a solution?
Well, yes. Digital-detoxing has become all the rage with young, trendy professionals who have lived their entire lives in the grips of their smartphones.
Unplugged is the market leader in these short, nature based breaks where guests lock their phones away for three days.
The idea is that by foregoing all trappings of the digital age, guests will have a chance to reset. They claim benefits include an improvement in sleep, a reduction in stress, and a boost in focus – three things many of us are in dire need of.
The company sells cabins across the country nestled in the beautiful countryside with prices ranging from £390-£420 for three day stays.
This is what happened when I paid a visit to one of their cabins in your friend, and mine, North Wales.
Unplugged is the market leader in these short, nature based breaks where guests lock their phones away for three days
The idea is that by foregoing all trappings of the digital age, guests will have a chance to reset
They claim benefits include an improvement in sleep, a reduction in stress, and a boost in focus
Day One – The Night of the Long Shakes
The train journey from London to North Wales where I will spend my holiday is a cosy four hours.
More than enough time to settle in, catch up with friends for the last time and begin busying myself with plans and preparations for the weekend ahead.
Or at least it would be, if I wasn’t gravely hungover and reeling from the effects of a particularly boastful Indian order from the night before.
As a result, for the next four hours I am either in the toilet or sweating next to the unfortunate soul next to me.
When I finally arrive at Betwys -y-Coed, nestled in the heart of the Conwy Valley, I am a shivering wreck with nothing but sleep on my mind.
My base for the next three days is a cabin named Bronwyn, perched high on a windswept hill on the grounds of Pentrefoelas Hall.
For miles around there are only cows, farmers, and teenage boy racers. It is about as isolated as you can reasonably get without travelling to the Scottish Highlands – and these days, who has time for that?
My base for the next three days is a cabin named Bronwyn, perched high on a windswept hill
I enter my clean and compact cabin and am pleasantly surprised to see it has a host of modern amenities
The bed pictured at the start of my stay before it was defiled by three nights of restless sleep
With trembling hands, I approached the lock box and put my phone away (This is a stock image, these are not my hands)
I enter my clean and compact cabin and am pleasantly surprised to see it has a host of modern amenities including gas hob, fridge, shower and to my delight an eco-toilet.
It also has a log burning stove complete with a generous supply of kindling.
‘This will be great for Instagram stories’, I think, before remembering I have come here to suffer.
With trembling hands, I approach the lock box and say my final goodbye to my chums. I consider waiting around for them to reply, but these days that is always unlikely.
The deed is done and the phone is stowed away. I am officially cut off from the outside world, but right now I don’t care, my body and soul are broken and all I want on God’s green earth is the comfort and safety of my bed.
I crawl under the covers and fall into a restless sleep.
What passed was, by no exaggeration, the worst night of my life.
I was far sicker than I had originally thought and was soon in the grips of a fever like no other. To counteract the shivering, I was forced to light a fire and by 4am had used up all of my wood for the weekend.
The eco-toilet, I am ashamed to say, also took a battering.
The only conciliation I thought, as I drifted in and out of consciousness, was that my phone was locked up, because if it wasn’t I would definitely call 111 and I would definitely convince myself I’m going to die.
Day Two – The long and winding road to nowhere
It’s 9am when my crusty eyelids finally peel themselves open. The room smells of wood smoke and my sheets are drenched in sweat.
Outside the rain beats against the window, mercilessly. Oh boy.
Normally when I wake up unhappy on the weekend I’m straight on to my phone to whine to my friends about my problems.
Then I’ll often spend 10-15 minutes on YouTube watching clips from old TV shows or video essays on the Titanic. Bliss.
But as my clammy hand reaches over to grasp my phone it knocks into the sharp edges of the lock box and reality hits like a hammer. I am alone.
I steel myself and remember I am here to get better. I am a filthy addict whose perversions towards the base pleasures of social media has driven my friends and family to openly despise me.
For them, I must persevere and come back a better, more rounded person.
I decide to cook breakfast (which I burn) and then settle down in my spacious double bed, laying on the side which isn’t still damp with sweat from the night before.
I pick up the radio and flick over to BBC Wales and allow the parochial chatter to wash over me. I last three minutes before the parochial chatter begins to irritate me, so I switch it off and look at the rain outside for a bit – this is interminable.
The cabin is located in the heart of the beautiful countryside of North Wales
The river looked inviting at points during my stay but I soldiered on
Whilst I am not quite enduring the same form of social isolation reaped on those in Putin’s infamous Black Dolphin prison – where prisoners are forced to sit in pitch black cells for 23 hours a day- it is similar. I need to get out.
I peruse the map which has been given to me by the kind people at Unplugged and see that there is a charming roadside cafe just a two hour walk away.
Despite the rain, I pull on my overalls and begin the slow trudge down the hill towards the main road I will follow to the cafe, returning to the cabin after 300m to make one final use of the eco-toilet.
By the time I reach the road I am soaked and covered in mud and cow poo.
For the next two hours I trudge slowly along the road, hugging tight to the hard shoulder to avoid oncoming traffic (but also secretly hoping one of them clatters me).
After what seems like forever (and probably is as I have no watch) the café appears on the horizon and my soul soars in anticipation.
But as I get closer, the cafe, which for the last two hours has been as real to me as my own limitless supply of self-loathing, reveals itself to be little more than a hateful mirage. It is closed.
Two hours later I am back in the cabin and the sun is getting low. Luckily I have stocked up on burgers and crisps so I devour these in the bed like a fat dog.
When I am satiated, I flick through the radio until I find BBC Five Live and settle in for the Arsenal game.
We beat West Ham 5-2, which is pleasing, and I reach to call my friend Chris who I know will be upset, which I know will please me further.
Then I remember where I am. I throw myself onto the bed and scream into the pillows. Another day draws to a close.
Day Three – Total eclipse of the solar powered cabin
When I rise the next morning I am determined to make the most of my final day and actually attempt to find the tranquility these expensive mini-breaks boast of guaranteeing.
This resolve lasts roughly two minutes as I soon learn that due to my own stupidity in leaving the toilet light on, (I scared myself in the night) the cabin has now ran out of solar power.
Without it, it is just a shed on a hill – making me the fool (on said hill).
I gaze at the bed, crumpled and damp from the night’s labours.
I gaze out at the countryside, miserable, grey and sodden like my soul.
Enough is enough. In a fit of rage I tear at the box and wrench it open, scooping out the forbidden fruit and holding it to my bosom.
I have lasted two days out of the three, I am a failure but I don’t care, I am free.
I lasted two days out of the three, I failed but by the end I just didn’t care
Within an hour I am back in Betwys -y-Coed having a well deserved meal at a local hotel.
It is the first of December and the pubs and shops are full of Christmas cheer. I take an Instagram, I message my friends. I excel in the connectivity and companionship of the 21st century.
I have one pint, I have two. By the end of the day I’ve had seven, but there’s a storm on the horizon. With every passing pint, the dark spectre of the cabin on the hill looms nearer.
Eight pints should do it, eight pints and then I can conk out in the cabin until the rain ends and the train takes me home.
Aye pig, that’ll do.
For more information about Unplugged retreats: click here.