When we clink glasses at the end of another hard week's work, I feel guilty. Like you, I've been looking forward to a drink, but unlike you, I don't continue until I black out. There's always a reason to justify your drinking: you deserve it after a stressful day, roast beef would be unthinkable without a glass of red, the sport's on. Our friendship has started to revolve around alcohol and it makes me uneasy. Partly because I want to be able to socialise without a bottle of wine being crowbarred into every occasion, and partly because it confirms to me what you seem oblivious to: that you are an alcoholic.
I know you would protest if I suggested it. You are hard-working, in a relationship, a good dad; your life appears to be running smoothly, but something's not right. During dinner parties you insist on opening another bottle, topping up all our glasses when everyone else has had enough. On camping trips you have a private winebox that you think no one knows about. Your children even call wine "Daddy's juice".
On one level you know you're drinking too much, as you once jokingly confessed that you spread your empties over the neighbours' recycling boxes as it stops you looking bad, but not enough to curb your addiction. As your face grows redder and your hands shakier, having a drink with you is losing its attraction.
• Tell us what you're really thinking at mind@theguardian.com
