There's a truly horrible series of advertisements running on British TV at the moment for Magnet Kitchens. “Magnet asked me to show them one item that sums up my kitchen…” trill a succession of not-quite-out-of-work actresses, “… so I showed them: this!” At which point they hold up an object. If it were me, I'd be tempted to hold up a blunt knife caked in rancid butter, or a handful of dried, dusty peas that fell down the side of the cooker when the Birds Eye bag burst. But viewers don't want to see that, apparently. These objects gleam, they glisten. One particular woman holds up a corkscrew.

It's hard to describe the smug expression on the face of this woman as she describes her love of “wine”, and how Magnet cater for it perfectly with their dedicated wine cooler. But maybe it's nothing to do with her acting skills that makes me cringe. Every time I see this advert, I wonder if I'm just embarrassed about people saying they like “wine”. If I imagine someone saying that they like “wine”, and I imagine asking them “Oh yeah? Any wine in particular?” I imagine them replying “Oh, you know… Just wine.” Jenny recently read an interview in a trashy mag with former Les Dennis-spouse Amanda Holden, who described how she enjoys holidaying in Italy, spending time with her new partner and drinking “wine”. It's possible that she has a delicate palate and particularly savours a chilled glass of Pouilly Fumé, but because she just says she likes drinking “wine”, I imagine her tipping a vat of cloudy, foul-smelling semi-fermented grape juice down her neck.

And I'm embarrassed, because I also like “wine”, but don't like saying that I like “wine”. A recent exchange on my award-winning radio programme between myself and political correspondent went something like this:

R: So, , do you have any wine recommendations for me?
W: [pause] Yes, I do. Red wine.
R: Red, you say.
W: Yes.
R: You wouldn't say white, at all.
W: Er… is white the other one? No, red. Red wine.
R: OK. I'll pick up some red wine this weekend.
W: Just pop down to your local vintner, ask for some red wine, he should have lots there for you.
R: Thanks.

Without wishing to get all on your ass, the British just seem a bit hung up about the word “wine”. Maybe it's just a linguistic thing, it represents a past era during which we knew f*ck all about “wine”, whereas now we buy truckloads of excellent plonk from strangely-well-informed goths who work in branches of Oddbins. But anyway, all I was going to say was that yesterday we went to the pub and had some wine, which was nice, and then we had a different wine, which we also liked, and then on the way home we met with some old friends of Jenny's who invited us to their house. “Would you like some wine?” they asked. “Yes please,” I said. “I like wine.”