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This was a lot better than it should have been considering it was written by a largely forgotten comic writer who peaked in London just before it started swinging. The humor is clean and conservative, the kind of stuff a vaguely dirty grandpa might tell you in private. But there's a serious, sad story here and it's told in some interesting, possibly gimmicky ways that remind me of Philip Roth's much praised The Counterlife. You also learn more than you ever wanted to about Søren Kierkegaard and the production of multi-camera British sitcoms.