A little while ago, I saw someone online talking about how AI can now write entire blogs in seconds. Seconds! Meanwhile, I’d just spent a full 45 minutes trying to find the right words to describe the exact shade of pink the sky turns at dusk (somewhere between a peach and a promise, in case you’re wondering).
So, I thought—should I give it a go? Should I ask AI to write a blog for me?
I did.
And it was… fine. It had all the right words in all the right places. It was neatly structured, informative, efficient. But it was also completely soulless.
It didn’t ramble off-topic about the time I sat outside with a cup of tea, fully intending to watch the sunset, only to get side-tracked by a high-stakes sheep drama unfolding in the next field.
It didn’t include the bit where I accidentally dropped my biscuit in my tea, fished it out with a spoon, and ate it anyway (because I am not a quitter).
And most importantly? It didn’t sound like me.
And that’s why I’ll never use AI to write my blogs.
1. My Life is a Bit Too… Unscripted
AI likes things to be logical and well-organised. My life, on the other hand, is a bit more improvised disaster meets countryside chaos.
Take last week. I sat down to write a blog about the joy of doing nothing, and five minutes in, I heard an ominous clatter outside. I looked up to see one of my sheep in the hall, staring at me through the door like she’d just popped by for a chat.
By the time I’d ushered her back to where she was supposed to be (pausing only to appreciate how smug she looked about her little adventure), I’d forgotten whatever profound thought I was about to write down.
AI doesn’t understand the sheep-based interruptions of rural life. It doesn’t know what it’s like to have to choose between finishing a sentence or retrieving a wayward animal from a place it definitely shouldn’t be.
But I do. And that’s why I write these blogs myself.
2. AI Doesn’t Know What It’s Like to Sit in a Hot Tub in a Woolly Hat
You see, AI can describe a hot tub. It can tell you how the water is warm, how the steam rises in the cold night air. But has it ever actually sat in one, wearing a woolly hat, feeling smugly luxurious while the frost nips at the tip of its nose?
I have. And let me tell you, it is one of life’s greatest pleasures.
There’s something quite magical about floating in perfectly warm water while the stars blaze above you, knowing that the only thing on your to-do list is to top up your drink and maybe glance at the moon and stars.
An AI-generated blog wouldn’t think to mention how I once leaned back too enthusiastically, accidentally dunked my entire face, and had to pretend I totally meant to do that.
But I will. Because that’s what really happened. And that’s what makes this real.
3. Writing is Like Having a Chat (And I Like a Good Chat)
If you’ve ever read my blogs before, you’ll know I don’t do formal travel writing. I don’t say things like, “Nestled in the rolling hills of Mid Wales, our charming cabin offers a unique retreat for discerning travellers.”
No. I say things like, “Come and stay. It’s peaceful. It’s beautiful. There’s an old ewe who might stare at you while you eat breakfast, That’s Johanna she’s nosy and very friendly.”
I write these blogs the way I’d tell a story over tea. Sometimes they ramble. Sometimes they go off on tangents about the local pub or the best spot to sit on the porch when it rains. But that’s what makes them mine.
And if you’re reading this, you’re probably not here for polished, generic travel content. You’re here because you like the idea of a place with a bit of heart.
Which is why I write them myself—so you can get to know this place the way I know it.
4. The Cabin is Personal—So the Words Should Be Too
This place wasn’t designed by a corporate team in a boardroom. It was built by hand, with love, from reclaimed wood and a thousand little ideas that came to life over time.
It’s full of details that make it special—like the Clocktail Cabinet, the handmade bed that overlooks the meadow, or the way the porch lets you sit outside and listen to the rain without getting wet.
It’s not just a business. It’s a home, a passion project, and a little slice of calm in a noisy world.
And if I handed over my words to AI, they’d lose that.
Because AI can’t tell you how it feels to wake up here, when the only sound is the birds starting their morning songs.
AI doesn’t know about the guest who told me they hadn’t slept that well in years, or the one who said they’d never seen so many stars in their life.
AI doesn’t know what it’s like to sit by the fire, cup in hand, watching the flames flicker and feeling like everything is exactly as it should be.
But I do. And that’s why I’ll always write these blogs myself.
So, Will I Ever Use AI for Writing?
Nope.
Because at the end of the day, words matter. The way they’re strung together, the little quirks, the real-life stories—that’s what makes them special.