Ayckbourn’s comedies are not what you’d call feel-good. They make you think and they make you uncomfortable – but of course they also make you laugh, often at situations which shouldn’t be funny at all.

Why would the increasingly desperate attempts of a spurned wife to commit suicide, in a room full of people blithely unaware of her intentions, be funny.

But then it’s not her we’re laughing at. It’s the breathtaking insensitivity of the people who inadvertently thwart her intentions.

There are three linked playlets, set in the kitchens of three different couples who get together for drinks on three successive Christmas Eves.

Subtly their relationships change. The underdog becomes the power wielder, the neurotic wreck takes kindly control of the formerly patronising rich bitch, who’s sunk into an alcoholic haze and the smooth womaniser finds himself dependent on the wife he despised.

It is set in the 1970s but apart from the wonderfully retro clothes and sets, the flawed relationships so unerring observed by Ayckbourn, belong to any era.

Sara Crowe and Matthew Cottle work tremendously well together as the gauche but ambitious Sidney and his wife Jane, who is obsessed with cleaning and to begin with, a totally inept hostess.

The cut of Sydney’s suits as the play progresses is an indication of his growing success.

Honeysuckle Weeks gives a superbly tuned performance in one of the most challenging roles as Eva, wife of the serial adulterer Geoffrey (Marc Bannerman).

We first see her as pill-popping no-hoper, then as the would-be suicide – where her desperation is funny and heart-rending in equal measure – and finally as the calm voice of common sense when everyone else is missing the point.

Deborah Grant and David Griffin are Marion and Ronald, the bank manager and his wife who are at first laughably pretentious and ultimately rather sad.

The comic timing is perfect, both physical and verbal. It’s a seasonal treat not to be missed.

Jo Bayne