The Quabbs Cabin, Knighton Powys

21/09/2026

I think when we first started there was a temptation to show absolutely everything and try to appeal to as many people as possible.

But over time we’ve realised that one of the best things we can do is almost the opposite.

Know who we’re for.

Most of our guests come here because they want to disappear for a couple of days. Countryside, peace, privacy and somewhere that feels completely theirs. Walk out of the door and into the hills, come back, light the fire, heat the hot tub and decide they’re not going anywhere else that day.

They also tend to like somewhere a bit different. Quirky, cosy, handmade, old things mixed with new, reclaimed wood and things that don’t necessarily match. They’re not looking for a pristine beige box that could be anywhere — which is fortunate, because we wouldn’t have the first clue how to create one.

And knowing who we’re for also means knowing who we’re not for.

We’re not family-friendly. We love families — we have children and grandchildren ourselves — but this particular place was made for two adults.

Dogs, though, are a different matter. We’ve never wanted to be somewhere that simply allows dogs. We welcome them and treat them as another guest, because to the people bringing them, that’s exactly what they are.

We’re not somewhere for nightlife, loads going on or a packed itinerary. And if you want a TV and Netflix at the end of the day, you definitely won’t find those here.

What you will find is nature, walks, dark skies, a fire, a bath, a hot tub, a porch to sit on when it rains and enough connection to the outside world when you need it.

And knowing all of this has made creating content easier too. Instead of constantly wondering what shall I post today?, I come back to one question:

What do our guests come here for?

And show more of that.

Because we don’t need everybody to want what we’ve got.

We need the people who are looking for exactly this to see it and think:

Yep. That’s us.

❤️ QC

20/09/2026

I had an email this morning from a lady asking about coming to Quabbs for a reading retreat, and I haven’t stopped thinking about what a lovely idea that is.

A bag full of books, no appointments, no sightseeing itinerary and nobody expecting you to be anywhere. Just choosing your favourite spot depending on the weather and settling down for another chapter. We’ve even got a little borrowing library here if you run out of words…

And it made me think about all the different reasons people have come here. Some arrive wanting to walk for miles. Some barely leave the cabin. Some celebrate something enormous and some come because life has been enormous and they need a few quiet days away from it.

There’s something rather nice about a place not telling you how you should spend your time.

You can climb hills, explore little towns and walk Offa’s D**e.

Or you can put your pyjamas on at 4pm, make another cup of tea and finish your book.

I know which one I’d be tempted by.

What would your Quabbs retreat involve?

🤎 QC

19/09/2026

I’ve been thinking about this while we’ve been away.

You can plan a trip within an inch of its life. You can make lists of things to see, places to go and things you absolutely mustn’t miss.

And yet sometimes, when you look back, that isn’t what comes to mind first.

It’s sitting outside early in the morning with a coffee. Looking out of a car window on a long drive. Watching the light change on a hill. Sitting beside somebody without either of you saying very much. Listening to rain when you’re tucked up in bed. Watching an animal potter about completely oblivious to you.

Nothing really happened.

And yet somehow you remember exactly how it felt.

I think perhaps those moments stay with us because, without really meaning to, we were completely present for them. Not thinking about what had already happened or what we were doing next.

Just taking it all in.

And sometimes those are the bits I think we should leave a little more room for.

🤎 QC

17/09/2026

I’m sometimes asked where something in the cabin is from and I have to admit that quite often the answer is, “I haven’t got a clue.”
Some things came from junk shops years ago. Some were passed down to us. Some have followed us from house to house. Some were picked up on holidays, some came from charity shops and car boots, some were rescued because we thought they were far too nice to throw away, and quite a lot of the furniture was simply made by Paul.
There was never really a grand plan to create a particular “look”. We just kept choosing things we liked, using materials we already had and putting old things to new uses.
Which does make us spectacularly useless at the whole “shop the room” thing.
But I rather like that.
Because if you love the cabin, I don’t think the answer is to find the exact same chair, lamp or bedside table. Find the slightly battered old thing that catches your eye in a junk shop. Keep something you’ve owned for twenty years because you still love it. Give something unfashionable another chance. Make something if you can. Mix old with new and don’t worry too much about whether any of it is supposed to go together.
That’s pretty much how Quabbs happened.
So there you are.
Shop the cabin.
Absolutely no shopping links available.
❤️ QC

16/09/2026

15/09/2026

This one got under my skin a little.

We were contacted recently by a company telling us they’d discovered Quabbs Cabin and thought what we were doing was wonderful.

Our use of reclaimed and locally sourced materials. Our approach to waste. Reusing and repurposing. Supporting local businesses. Wildlife. The way we’ve tried to create a more sustainable, eco-conscious place to stay here in Mid Wales.

Apparently, we ticked all sorts of boxes.

Then came talk of recognition, an award, a certificate, a badge and becoming part of their green network.

And then we discovered that, in order to receive all this recognition for being sustainable…

we had to pay them a monthly subscription.

And something about that just didn’t sit comfortably with us.

I completely understand that genuine accreditation costs money. Proper inspections, assessments and independent certification have to be paid for somehow.

But there’s a difference between that and effectively being invited to buy a badge that tells everyone how green you are.

Because sustainability shouldn’t be a club that small businesses have to pay to belong to.

We don’t always get it right here. We use electricity. We buy things. We create waste. Guests drive here. We’re certainly not claiming to be some perfect little eco-utopia tucked away in the Welsh hills.

We just try.

We repair before we replace.

We reuse before we buy.

We source locally where we can.

We built Quabbs Cabin using huge amounts of reclaimed and local material.

We make things.

We mend things.

We repurpose things.

We look after our little patch of Mid Wales as best we can.

And when there’s a choice between paying a monthly subscription so that we can put a green badge on our website…

or spending that money on actually doing something greener…

I know which one we’re choosing.

No certificate required. 🌱

❤️ QC

14/09/2026

And I am absolutely taking this one on the chin myself, because we are as guilty of it here as anybody.

Over time we’ve added things. The sauna. The cold plunge. The outdoor shower. The swing. The pizza oven. Seasonal extras. There’s nearly always another idea scribbled down somewhere.

And I LOVE thinking of those things.

But scrolling through Instagram this morning, looking at so many beautiful cabins, cottages and holiday lets, I wondered whether those of us in hospitality have collectively got ourselves into a bit of a pickle.

Are we tying ourselves in knots trying to offer more than the next place?

Because yes, it all looks wonderful on paper.

Look at ALL THE THINGS you get when you stay here.

But do guests actually want all of them?

We see it here. Guests can stay for two or three nights, barely leave Quabbs and STILL not have time to do everything.

And I wonder whether there’s even a tiny bit of pressure that comes with that.

“We haven’t used the sauna.”
“We need to get in the hot tub.”
“We haven’t done that walk.”

Suddenly the weekend that was supposed to be about switching off has acquired a bloody itinerary.

Some of my favourite things guests tell us have nothing to do with an amenity.

They sat on the porch. Watched the sheep. Slept incredibly well. Drank coffee looking at the hills. Listened to the rain. Lost track of time.

None of those things required us to ADD anything.

So perhaps back to basics might actually be where we’re heading.

Simplify. Do fewer things really well. Make people comfortable. Give them privacy. Give them peace. Then leave them alone to enjoy it.

I’m certainly not announcing the removal of the hot tub tomorrow morning, before anyone panics.

But I am going to start asking myself:

Does this genuinely make someone’s stay better?

Or are we adding it because we feel we ought to keep adding?

Maybe the greatest luxury we can offer someone who’s escaped everyday life for two days isn’t a huge list of things to do.

Maybe it’s absolutely bu**er all.

And the time and space to do it.

What do you think?

❤️ QC

13/09/2026

We’re very careful about making wild promises around here. We can promise you a handmade cabin tucked away in its own little corner of a Welsh sheep farm, a big view, a copper bath, a wood-fired hot tub, a porch made for sitting on and rather more peace and quiet than most of us are used to.

What happens after that is really none of our business.

If you happen to sleep for nine hours, rediscover the art of doing absolutely nothing, have a proper conversation, spend an unreasonable amount of time staring into a fire and go home questioning why your normal life contains quite so much rushing about… well, we accept no responsibility whatsoever.

And if you accidentally book another stay while you’re here, we definitely can’t be held accountable for that either.

You have been warned.

❤️ QC

12/09/2026

I certainly don’t have a problem with taking photographs. I’d be a monumental hypocrite if I did. I take hundreds, I run a small business through social media and I completely understand wanting to capture beautiful places, holidays and lovely moments.

But watching this couple around a Las Vegas hotel pool made me think about the difference between real life and the version of it we see on Instagram.

Because technically, nothing in their photographs will be fake.

They really were in that pool. They really did kiss. He really did pick her up and spin her through the water. They really did laugh.

But we also saw the other bit.

Stop. Check the camera. Reposition. Do it again. Check the footage. Another take.

And once they had their travel content, they got out of the pool, packed everything away and left.

That was the bit I found strangely sad.

Because when we scroll through social media looking at other people’s amazing holidays, relationships and lives, how much of what we’re seeing is a memory of something that actually happened — and how much was created purely for the camera?

I love photographs. I want albums full of them when I’m old.

But I also want great big gaps where there are no photographs at all because we were far too busy swimming, laughing, talking, exploring and actually living it.

Perhaps that’s the bit of slow living we don’t talk about enough.

The bits nobody photographs.

The bits nobody posts.

The bits nobody else even knows happened.

Maybe the best bit of life is everything that happens when nobody is watching.

What do you think?

🤎 QC

11/09/2026

Running a small business is a very strange mixture of doing something you absolutely love… and spending a surprising amount of time dealing with things you never imagined would become part of your life.

One minute I’m arranging flowers, baking a cake and making the cabin look lovely for someone’s arrival.

The next I’m trying to work out why Instagram has apparently decided nobody needs to see us anymore, answering an email about something I definitely answered in the email before, chasing an invoice, ordering loo roll, checking the hot tub, wondering where all the teaspoons have gone and remembering at 10pm that there was one tiny job I was absolutely definitely going to do earlier.

There’s no marketing department. No maintenance team. No receptionist, purchasing department, social media manager or person whose job it is to deal with the weird stuff.

There’s just us.

And weirdly, I think that’s also one of the bits I love about it.

Because when someone books, we see it. When someone sends a lovely message, we read it. When somebody comes back for a second stay, we know. And when a guest tells us that those few days were exactly what they needed, it still feels very personal.

Small business problems? Plenty of them.

Would I swap it for a big business where none of it felt quite so much like ours?

Not a chance.

❤️ QC