Connectivity overkill

It's an appropriately autumnal day here on the Bruce, and the Farm Manager decided we should head up the Peninsula to find a spot of breakfast.

We passed by the usual Wiarton stops with a vague notion to see what might be available towards Lion's Head.

By "autumnal" (not to be confused with "fally" or "fallish") I mean one of those days when its deep summer one minute and almost winter the next. As we took the coast road through Purple Valley and past Hope Bay and Barrow Bay we met thunder, lightning, bright sunshine and autumnal gloom in rapid succession.

Again and again.

Toured around Lion's Head, the Farm Manager remarking more than once what a pretty place this would be to retire to, and a decent hospital not that far away in Wiarton for the moment I have the big one.

Why she automatically assumes that it's me who will have "the big one" I'm not sure. Women have been known to have heart attacks too. Anyway, dying in the ambulance between Lion's Head and Wiarton is probably as good a death as any, so I'm game.

There's a new place open on the main drag, Rachel's Bakery and Cafe. All day breakfast the sign promised.

Rachel has a Art Deco theme going on. Black and white floor tiles, chrome and glass furniture. Pleasant.

We nab a window seat so we can keep an eye on the hounds, who plant themselves in the front seats of the car and bark at passersby, especially passersby walking dogs.

As we're sitting by the front window a family unit of two plus three walks in. Let's call them the Twattleys.

They are all heavily kitted out with lap-top cases, smart-phones in those stupid belt holsters, and various iPads and Playbooks and Kindles. I swear between the five of them they had at least ten electronic doodads.

Papa Twattley came through the door first, to scope out the terrain I suppose. Is your wi-fi up was his first question.

Not what's the soup of the day or what's the daily special.

Is your wi-fi up?

The Twattley tribe converges on the biggest table in the place, and Papa runs to the counter to complain that the table hasn't been properly scrubbed down. The harried counterperson leaves the counter and does a wet-cloth wipe-down of the table.

The Twattleys, reassured by the gesture, begin unsheathing their armada of laptops and iPads and Playbooks.

By now our breakfast is served. Turns out Rachel's has been in business over a year. Business is good by the look of things on this post peak season Saturday.

Constant traffic in and out. Seems to be a lot of locals coming for some of the baked goods. Strawberry tarts baked fresh this morning.

The Farm Manager chose the breakfast sandwich, which I think was a better choice than my peameal bacon and eggs with rye toast.

Meanwhile the entire Twattley tribe is deeply into their screens. I've never seen a family outing quite like it. They're sitting around a table sharing a meal, but they might as well be in different countries.

I don't get it.

But thumbs up for Rachel's! Maybe cut out the wi-fi to discourage the Twattleys and their ilk from ruining the ambiance, but good food, pleasant decor, and we got out of there for well under twenty bucks.