You will want to cook. I don’t know why, but something about a wood-fired stove and a tiny clay pot makes you want to toast bread like a medieval peasant. I made a massive pot of porridge, and I ate it while sitting on a stump outside. There were no cars. No sirens. Just a fat robin staring at me, judging my breakfast choices. I shared a crumb with him, and we became friends for exactly seventeen seconds.
The kitchen is gentle. It doesn’t have a microwave or a coffee machine that sounds like a helicopter. You have to boil water in a kettle that looks like it survived the Blitz. It’s slow. It makes you breathe. I burnt my toast twice, but I didn’t care. It felt honest. I was performing the ancient ritual of “making food,” and the hobbit house approved.
The Night Time Vibe: Absolute Magic
When the sun goes down, the hobbit house transforms. The windows are small and deep-set, so you can’t see the outside world unless you press your nose to the glass. The fire becomes the only light source. You will suddenly want to read a physical book. You will want to write in a journal. I found a dusty copy of The Hobbit on a shelf, and I read one chapter by candlelight. I felt like a Victorian ghost, but a happy one.
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Book a holiday in a Hobbit House, various locations throughout the UK
The bed is a cloud. I mean it. It’s a heavy duvet, lots of wool blankets, and a mattress that swallows you whole. The silence is so loud it’s almost a noise. I woke up at 6 AM—not because of an alarm, but because a beam of sunlight hit my face exactly like it does in a movie. I didn’t check my phone for two hours. I’m not that good of a person in real life, but in a hobbit house, you’re a better version of yourself.
Leaving was the hardest part. I had to physically duck out of the door back into the real world. I drove home feeling like a giant again, surrounded by concrete and 5G signals. My own apartment looked tall and angry. It had sharp corners. I kicked the skirting board out of spite. I immediately started planning my next booking. Because let’s face it: the real world is great and all, but sometimes you just need a round door and a second breakfast.
So go. Find a hobbit house. Duck through the door. Eat the burnt toast. You’ll thank me later. Just pack a step stool for the shower.
