Adventure holidays come in all shapes and sizes. Personally, my most memorable include scuba diving with 100 manta rays in the Maldives and going on safari in Kenya. Indeed, the latter was almost an adventure too far. The group was divided between a number of Toyota HiAces and our very competitive driver was determined to be the best, so when we came across a pride of lions and their recent kill he tried to get as close as possible. The result was he drove into a huge pothole and broke the axle, meaning we had to abandon the van within metres of the lions and run for safety.

This year, however, we are going on an adventure of a very different sort – our first-ever all-inclusive package holiday to Marrakech. I say “our” – this will actually be my second all-inclusive. I once went on one to the Cayman Islands. As it was over New Year, we had to share a table on the 31st with another couple. When we went to sit down, the lady sprung to her feet and shook our hands with the immortal words, ‘Hi, hi, sincerely hi.’

The following day the resort held a fancy-dress competition. I refused to take part but my then-SO threw themselves into it with gusto and was awarded second prize – a bottle of house white. Later in the afternoon it was suggested we crack the bottle open. Knowing from experience that the house white tasted like metal polish, I declined, suggesting I would prefer a G&T. The mother of all rows ensued, culminating in me being accused of “never taking pride in any of my achievements”. It was the last time we went on holiday together.

So, this time round I am not approaching our week in Morocco with any great expectations apart from a couple of classic anecdotes to take home. To prepare myself, I took a deep dive into the worst comments on Tripadvisor. This has to rate as the bravest thing you can do pre-departure, as after reading the first 100 or so you could be forgiven for not wanting to go anywhere ever again. The main complaints in this instance have been that the resort is not, as advertised, what you might consider to be five-star. Go figure. The price per person for seven nights with meals, drinks and flight included is £600 so you can hardly imagine it’s going to be on par with Claridge’s.

The other main bone of contention appears to be that the Moroccan staff at the resort are more likely to speak French than English. In their own country! I mean, how dare they?

In the meantime, I’m already planning a trip post-Marrakech, when we will owe it to ourselves to indulge in some luxury. I’m very tempted by the Mexican island of Holbox, where you are more likely to come across whale sharks than whiners. No battle for the lunchtime buffet and it will be much easier to catch the eye of the bar staff pool-side. I also find myself considering cruises. Not so much aboard the 20-deck Icon of the Seas that recently set out on its maiden voyage. I’m thinking more of exploring Alaska, surrounded by a smaller number of like-minded passengers, more interested in nature than fighting for a free tagine.

And if I’m honest, all our best holidays have started in the Concorde Room in T5. Admittedly with a complementary bloody mary in hand, but then I’ve never claimed not to be a hypocrite. Adventures are all very well, but ideally served with warm nuts and a generous dash of Tabasco.