Is it all over so soon? It seems like yesterday we were sat on a plane, the remnants of 2012 and those Christmas festivities still in full flow, saying goodbye to the grey skies and rainy days of London... and hello to Mexico, Mayans and merrymaking.

Anyone who knows us is aware that we're quite partial to a bit of quality nosh, so when we'd been looking into potential hotels for our two week sojourn I'd paid particular attention to the reviews of food on Trip Advisor. Barring the odd disgruntled - and often mentally unstable - punter, there'd been a fair amount of praise for the Playacar Palace's restaurants. They may not be as numerous as some of the enormo-resorts of Cancun, but hey, we don't wanna stay in a 2,000 room behemoth preferring a more personal touch...  

The poor creature didn't see it coming! But it can't have been the first time that a novice golfer quite literally scored a birdie. And as Coman sheepishly looks around to see if anyone else noticed the stunned wildfowl he's just scored a direct hit upon with an errant golf ball, I line up my own shot praying I don't knockout a flamingo or concuss a parrot at the bird sanctuary next door.

As the Bible didn't quite say, Man cannot live on all-inclusive food alone, so after more than a week of assorted dinner options within the various restaurants of the Playacar Palace, it's time to head back onto the quirky streets of Playa del Carmen.

Facts and figures alert! The Maya used a dual calendar system. And here's how it worked...

The look of terror on Coman's face as he stands petrified, shaking and sweating, clinging to the narrow pyramid steps 100 feet above the earth, frightens me no end. "Sit down," I implore him, "just sit down and you'll be ok!!"

The course of true love never runs smooth, or so it is said. And in less than a month we'll have been together for 13 years - unlucky for some! But we're pretty bloody fortunate as from that very first thunderbolts and lightning moment when we clapped eyes on each other we've been two peas in a pod, yin and yang, Gilbert and George, Rogers and Hammerstein, Morecambe and Wise... Patsy and Edina!

Perhaps hiring a beat-up car without a working handbrake wasn't such a good idea. To be honest it didn't exactly seem the best plan at the time either but as we run onto the highway to stop a multiple pile-up we're cursing our impetuous choice of rental car agreement. And it had all started so well!

At 1pm we arrive at Chichén Itzá and, after being split into English and Spanish speakers, we are led on site. Armando takes the English group, and while proving himself to be as bossy as ever, he actually provides a wealth of information as we wander around. We also seem to be ahead of many of the other touring groups as the site doesn't seem too overcrowded as yet.

Oh the joys of the package tour! What is meant to be the pinnacle of our visit to Mexico - visiting the amazing pyramids of Chichén Itzá - is consumed by the trials of the prescribed itinerary. We knew it wouldn't be as pleasant as having our own private transport to Tulum and grit our teeth accordingly but it's a long, long day for just three hours of wonder.

Despite Coman having done the PR for Alton Towers a few years ago, we're not exactly theme-park kinda people. So booking a day out to Xcaret, one of the many huge adventure playgrounds catering to the masses of tourists on the Mayan Riviera, is a bit of a gamble.

Today we go to visit Tulum, a spectacular Mayan destination high on my list of to-do's for many years. But first, nicely rested, we head out on a run through a different part of Playa Del Carmen, past exclusive condominiums and some very posh 5 star hotels that confirm our suspicions that Virgin's rating system doesn't quite match our own!

Oh dear. Perhaps it was drinking super-sized coca-colas well past midnight or the lingering traces of jetlag still messing with our system, but we're both awake soon after 5am and while Coman manages to drop back off for a while I'm not so lucky.

It's gone 7pm when we wake from our siesta to the sound of terrible piano covers of Beatles songs wafting up from the lobby. 'Hey Jude' is especially excruciating, almost as bad as Macca's massacre of it at the Olympics. Still groggy we steel ourselves for the celebrations to come.

The sun is streaming through the windows when we awake bright and early, so our morning run down 5th Avenue is a hotter affair than yesterday. We've decided to spend the first few days chilling on the beach before our schedule of adventures kicks in - Coman's determined we should both relax - so after breakfast we slather on copious quantities of sun-block and pack our hotel beach bag with ipods, books, magazines and plenty more sun cream.

Our first morning dawns typically early so, surprisingly alert, we decide to start the day as we mean to go on with a run to shift the festive pounds - which we'll no doubt put straight back on with the unlimited booze and food that stretches before us.

New year, new era! Those crackpots and fruitcakes awaiting intergalactic saviours to rescue them from a cosmic fireball on the 21st of December are no doubt still wiping egg off their faces as the rest of us sail merrily into 2013.