I think I have a problem

With wine on a Friday night.

It starts with a whisper at around midday. I can hear it humming softly from the fridge in all its cold, fresh, delicious glory.

The call gets steadily louder as the afternoon wears on. With each tantrum from my beautiful, highly-strung 20 month old daughter, the wine positively sings from the bottle stacked lovingly in its cosy white home in the corner of the kitchen.