Itâs the coldest night of the year and Iâm forgoing the warm, downy embrace of a hotel bed to sleep in a shepherdâs hut. Who needs central heating, double glazing and lashings of hot water anyway? Me, it turns out, as I huddle under blankets on my bed and stare out at the sun setting over the Exe estuary. This isnât any old shepherdâs hut, to be fair. This tastefully painted wooden contraption-on-wheels is probably the loveliest shepherdâs hut in England. And a quick phone call fixes the cold. A chirpy young woman from reception comes and sorts out the wood-burning stove; a quick fiddle with the heating and all is toasty warm. On closer inspection, the windows are double glazed. Has lockdown made me soft?