I've gone all-inclusive. Now there's six of us (me, the boyfriend, the nine-year old, the nine-month twins and my mum), I thought rather than fret over every frozen daiquiri, it made sense to pay up front and then anyone, of any age, can help themselves to whatever they want. So we're in Grand Bahama (discover-the-bahamas.co.uk), currently suffering a cold front so it's only 70F in the shade, feasting on conch salad and fries.

But we're finding all-inclusivity is no free-for-all. The moment we arrived at Our Lucaya, we were fitted with colour-coded wristbands, marking us out. Storme thought it great; it's like being a member of a Bahamian club. But we adults were mortified. We were being branded cheap skates.

And our package turns out to be quite a complicated affair, as fine tuned as the British class system, in which some are more all-inclusive than others. First we have to work out where we can and cannot eat. There are 14 restaurants, and our package lets us eat at six of them, at certain times of day.

But it's not only where, but what we imbibe. We can only order certain local beers, or the house wine. A glass of US chardonnay or Budweiser will set us back an extra four bucks. There's also a terrible Orwellian stigma to being all-in. Our piña coladas arrive in a plastic cup; pay-as-you-goers get a cocktail glass. It's almost worth paying the $10 to stop you looking so cheap.

The whole point of paying up front was to make us relax. Instead we live in fear of incurring extras by buying a beer at the wrong bar. All-inclusivity just isn't what it's cracked up to be. But it's not only the cost that will make me pay-as-I-go next time. It's the shame, the shame.

If you have any tips to share, please email: deabirkett@cs.com