Mellor has always had a knack for spinning yarns about working-class lives that are not just rooted in tired “it’s grim up north” cliches. Among the cartoonish moments are robust stories about zero-hours contracts and what it’s like to stretch a tenner out as far as it can possibly go, because skint really does mean skint. “Who are you, the Terminator?” she snaps back. When the bailiff knocks on her door for the first time, Keeley’s mother (Corrie’s Kym Marsh) sends him packing. While it is never too demanding, it is regularly satisfying. Its lightness of touch is part of its appeal, and it is a reliably quippy, witty show. At one point, the show turns into a crime caper, albeit a not-too-unpleasant one, which starts in Hull, where the worst thing anyone can really say about another person is, obviously: “Bastard!” When the windfall comes, it isn’t quite as straightforward as it first appears – it would be a dull six episodes if it came easily, was shared fairly and made them all happier and nicer people.

This is The Syndicate, so big money is hovering overhead, about to drop down and transform their lives, but the moral of the story is usually more on the “be careful what you wish for” side than it is “making a fantasy shopping list” or “does that bathtub come in solid gold?”.

Keeley’s co-workers at Woodvale Kennels have their own issues which will be explored in more depth in the future episodes dedicated to their characters, but there are sick nans, custody battles, pregnancy and loneliness all lined up, just waiting to yank on the heartstrings.

The cyndicate