Sean Hughes

However, Hughes is more matter-of-fact about his father’s passing than some of his more emotional colleagues, and the end passes almost incidentally… though the smart Irishman knows how to manipulate feelings if needs be; it’s all in the soundtrack.

Instead, the hour is more an honest assessment of a dysfunctional father-son relationship. There’s also some mention of chain-smoking, dim-witted mum, another far-from sympathetic character – but that dynamic seems destined for another show.

As seen in therapy rooms everywhere, Hughes employs glove puppets to describe uncomfortable situations, with dream sequences and unrealistic suggestions adding a mordantly surreal edge. Elsewhere his pin-sharp commentary and often lyrical use of language add a touch of classy, literate humour to the story.

But it’s not so poignant he forgets the funny, and for a comic who’s more recent outings have sometimes wallowed in middle-aged self-pity, there is a lightness of touch here, even when the subjects are heavy, such as musings why untested ‘miracle’ cancer cures aren’t given to the terminally – though, perhaps,  like many a distraught relative, he places rather too much hope on the pseudo-science of newspaper headlines.

The production is slick, with a few unexpected elements to match the unexpected sly playfulness which he couples to the thoughtful subject matter. In short, this is something of a return to form for Hughes.