Home is where the Wi-Fi is: kids have to be connected

And straight ahead sat The Boy, taking in none of it.

Instead, he was fixated with creating his own World Cup glory; headphones in place, screen tilting and jolting – trying desperately to get a goal out of a cartoon version of Wayne Rooney. Is there any other type?

Occasionally, I'd kick his leg (old football habits die hard) and silently point at some passing landmark.

He'd glance up at me in annoyance then quickly get back to the computer action.

Next to him sat my daughter; be-headphoned again and doing 'something' (16-year-olds don't tell you what) on her phone, even though it had no signal.

Welcome to the joys of 21st century family holidays.

It used to be that the annual sojourn with full roll-call – mum, dad, brothers, sisters, granny, aunties, uncles, cousins and cat – was all about family bonding and shared experience.

I'm sure it still is for some and, frankly, I'm jealous.

Because, despite the trauma of being crammed into the boot of a Ford Zephyr estate with nothing more than a pile of suitcases and a sickbag for company, I miss those days.

It was a time to play dominoes with the old uns, learn hip new card games (whist and shout, anyone?) and read the Beano Summer Special over and over again.

There was a sense of togetherness across generations and after a couple of after-dinner sherries, funny stories about friends and relatives came out that have been passed down the years and still raise a smile.

Alas, I've never recaptured that my magic with my own pair. At best, they smile politely and wonder what I'm on about.

At worst, they give it the full Kevin The Teenager strop.

The most important question they ask isn't 'what is there to do?', 'what's the hotel like?' or even 'what are we having for tea?'. It's 'will there be Wi-Fi?'.

At first, I was relieved to discover that our room had a faster connection than Cheryl Cole and some suntanned French playboy.

But after a while, it began to grate.

Instead of spending some rare quality time with my pair, we were retreating into the same little screen-obsessed pods we have at home.

Occasionally, one of them would point something out to the other on Instagram, Facebook, Twitter or whatever – but there was no way I was getting a look in.

As such, I began to do what I said I wouldn't; I started looking at my phone.

At first, it was just the quick fix of my Twitter feed, then the Star's website, then my emails and, suddenly, I was back in the office, from 1,000 miles away.

How I wished I'd gone to one of those new 'Digital Detox' resorts I'd read about – ironically on the internet.

Springing up all over the globe, residents are asked to hand in all mobile devices at reception.

There is no Wi-Fi, no satellite television and no phone signal for miles around. (Actually, it reminds me of a Shropshire B&B I once stayed in.)

Apparently, guests leave feeling more refreshed than ever as experts say the constant flicking between phone apps and devices leads to 'shallower thinking, weakened concentration, reduced creativity, and heightened stress'.

I can believe it – especially if you saw some of the emails I get.

So this removal of technology strikes me as a good idea.

Certain restaurants in Los Angeles (yes, I know) are even offering a five per cent discount to diners who check-in their phone on arrival, while Selfridges has introduced a tech-free room for shoppers at its flagship London store.

In Holland, a number of 'no Wi-Fi' benches have been installed in Amsterdam which block out phone signals for a five-yard radius.

All very fancy, but sadly nothing has yet been invented that can cross the generation gap and remove the daily buffering between parents and children.

Especially my pair, who, having seen some of the world's greatest scenery, swooped across Alpine ravines on a zipwire and guzzled more cheese than a hungry mouse, saved their biggest smiles for walking back through our front door.

Home used to be where the heart is.

Now, it's just where the Wi-Fi connects automatically.