A state-of-the-nation satire, of sorts, it is also a haunted house story with drawing-room farce, country house murder mystery and dystopian disaster movie optics thrown in.
This is the house owned – in one of the play’s more dated jokes – by upper-class “Lady Diana” , the head of a far-right group named Albion, who is swept in by the storm.
Although Ted’s racism and misogyny are clearly being parodied, they feel crass and gratuitous when combined with the play’s ineffective comedy.
Despite the gravity of the play’s themes it has a prevailingly saggy sitcom vibe, from the vision of the village vicar, Reverend Fiske , who, we are told, lives in a caravan and got the sack from Sainsbury’s.
An initially dungaree-clad Diana and her husband, Pete , look like they are in a dissolute version The Good Life, no less twee for the magic mushrooms Pete guzzles.
Lez Brotherston’s set is a wonky interior with higgledy fireplace, chandelier and a blast of stormy sky around it, and resembles a Roald Dahl storybook.
In the play’s closing moments, the flood waters sweep into the house in a deluge of visual effects that are nicely created by Nina Dunn’s projections and John Clark’s lighting, but accompanied by a wave of relief that it is all finally ending.