The very word alcohol lifts the tip of your tongue and then disappears down the back of your throat.

You imbibe it along with its myriad of meanings - cold beer by the barbecue, wine and good food, a thick band of copper at the bottom of a glass in the early hours of the morning.

We know its pleasures run to poison almost imperceptibly but while we talk and talk about drinking, we tend not to focus much on that. We concentrate on enjoying ourselves and regard addiction as an extreme involving cans of cheap brew and homelessness.

But alcoholism crosses the social spectrum. I came across the phrase "a functioning alcoholic" early in adult life and I know (we all know) there are functioning alcoholics working in Westminster, in newspapers, in multi-national companies, in schools. They are active parents and husbands. Their drinking will cause problems: Minor car accidents, sick days, job losses, rows. But mostly it is clouded in secrecy: Discrete purchases and hidden bottles, mugs cupped as though they contain coffee and quickly rinsed after use. Families cope, unsure if confronting the problem will only fuel more concealment, and worry about what they will come home to every night. Friends and colleagues notice, make remarks to each other, but don't know if or how to help.

The brave candour of Charles Kennedy's family in agreeing to share the results of his post mortem - which showed the politician suffered a major haemorrhage caused by his ongoing alcohol abuse - has exposed this reality a little. I don't pretend to know what they have gone through over many years, but those closest to him were part of the impossible struggle to protect a problem drinker from themselves. Many tributes have rightly been paid to Mr Kennedy's talents as a politician. Around him I suspect there are others who deserve medals, who will live with memories and frustrations that can never be shared.

Former First Minister Alex Salmond said: "The House of Commons probably is the worst place in the world for somebody with an alcohol problem." But you don't have to be among MPs to find a willing drinking companion. You don't need access to a pub when supermarkets deliver to your door.

The Scottish Government has recently announced it is doubling Scotland's capacity to deliver brief interventions - structured conversations about someone's drinking at opportune moments. Ministers have a part to play in driving policy around booze. But, Charles Kennedy's story does not shout at them to do more. Rather all of us, me included, have a part to play in changing Scotland's problem with drink. Have you ever encouraged someone to go for a pint, or to have another, when deep down you knew their drinking was problematic? (I have.) Have you ever brought them a present which clinks? Do you know someone who lives with a problem drinker? Have you ever asked them if they want to discuss it?

I wrote about the findings of the Global Drugs Survey, which questioned 686 Scots about their relationship with booze, in The Herald last week. It found 22% got more drunk than they wanted to at least once a month. We all need to be conscious of alcohol's insidious tipping points and protect ourselves and each other from it.