And of course, there’s the priest, played by Sherlock’s Andrew Scott, who only adds to this sense of almost magical realism. He’s "cool and sweary", new in town, very attractive and out for dinner with Fleabag’s family…but he’s also a priest. Congregations might be at an all-time low and the Catholic church frequently besieged by scandal ("I’m aware of the irony", he says, after admitting his lorry driver brother is a paedophile), but the priest is still a symbol of virtue. Here’s someone with a purpose, who can’t use sex as a sticking plaster, and who is strictly off-limits. Well, kind of – this is, we’re told at the outset, a "love story" – of what kind, who can be sure. Could Fleabag actually have her way with a man of the cloth? Maybe even flirting with that scenario is enough. Besides, the swelling choral music which rises up every now and again, plus the fact we open with Sinatra’s "Strangers in the Night", almost gives a sense of parody to the whole thing (because really, Fleabag? And a priest?!).