Love starts very modestly, banging on about her small breasts for awhile before picking up a guitar for a jolly pun-riddled ditty about shagging a dog – the canine sort. It’s not particularly edifying.

But slowly, almost imperceptivity, she wins people over. Sure, it’s formulaic stuff, putting filthy thoughts to music, but it works very effectively – even if a song about ‘I don’t want to take it up the arse tonight’ looks, on paper, like the height of tired hackery, in execution it’s great fun.

There’s a touch of Pam Ayres to her poem about a blow-up doll, as well as the almost obligatory nod to Victoria Wood’s style in her music, though Love’s act is definitely a post-watershed version of these esteemed forebears.