I watched a film last week where two guys who are at a party so boring, one of them grimly states “I’d have more fun at a fucking bus stop”. If you were sat at Richard Dawson’s bus stop – like the one on the cover of his 8th album End Of The Middle – you’d be inclined to linger for as long as possible, to dunk yourself in his world of the fantastically prosaic.

In stark contrast to previous work – no 41 minute epics here – he consciously keeps the compositions as simple and stripped back as possible. “I wanted this album to be small-scale and very domestic…. feeble, maybe like a newborn foal struggling to get to its feet”. So, here we get an almost “bare bones” Dawson, songs intensely personal and workaday, recorded with zero frills, but still with his towering wit and heartfelt absurdity baked into every one.

Opening song ‘Bolt’ quietly recounts the time he was struck by lightning in his childhood home – the heavenly source of songwriting prowess perhaps? – using his self described “controlled palette” of finger-picked acoustic guitar, dampened down drums and the occasional squeal of a clarinet. Richard Dawson’s version of domesticity is the key to relating to the songs here, mirroring our own lives and stoutly rooted in his family and its experiences.

‘Gondola’ might be seen as the archetype for the album – kitchen sink drama, “Piers is on Lorraine, shooting pains down my left leg”, with a chord progression so familiar it seems inconceivable no one has written it before now. Dawson’s uncanny ability to mix rank mundanity with genuine pop hooks on a setup this sparse is genuinely dizzying. With him, you understand the possibilities are truly endless.

‘The Knot’ is every wedding you’ve ever been at, a 7 minute matrimonial vignette so recognisable you could get whiplash from nodding along in grim appreciation. “Waddling down the aisle comes a Golden Retriever in a waistcoat and dicky bow….. a baby’s bone-chilling scream”. You can almost smell the tepid sausage rolls. It’s important to note, though you absolutely can enjoy this album without the lyric sheet, following along will multiply your enjoyment by a factor of a very great deal indeed.

In other hands, all this could come off as an exercise in the sardonic, but Dawson is so disarmingly honest and the music delivered with such a light touch, it’s impossible not to become embroiled in such fancies. He could describe the ingredients in a ploughman’s lunch and still have you on the verge of tears.

Towards the end, the spell wobbles slightly. ‘Polytunnel’ digs into the turf too far and stretches the wistfulness to breaking point whilst closing song ‘More Than Real’ plots an orbit that strays close to outright mawkishness. So be it. From Bullies to Boxing Day Sales, the full gamut of life is on this record and deserves your undivided attention.

Treat yourself this Valentine’s Day and body swerve the Card Factory tat to instead fall in love with the wool-gathering whimsy of Mr Dawson. You owe it to yourself.