The track clocks in at almost four minutes, which is fairly epic by Lovely Eggs’ standards the next track, ‘Don’t Patent That Shoe’, lasts less than a minute, which turns out to be more than enough time to provide a noisily nostalgic burst of what Britpop felt like before it lost its sense of humour. It’s enough to convert Gruff “Super Furry Animal” Rhys at least, who steps in to produce ‘Allergies’, swaddling the raucous, ramshackle opener in several layers of sitar. “Wildlife”, which is the band’s third album, certainly makes a compelling manifesto. No bad thing, and any cult revolving around the duo would be much more inviting than say, Jim Jones’ People’s Temple (there’d always be a nice pot of tea brewing, and it probably wouldn’t contain cyanide). The band, guitarist wife Holly Ross and drummer husband David Blackwell, have claimed that “Wildlife” is their most accessible album yet, although its formula of tainting twee ditties with abrasive tones means they remain a strictly cult concern. Also, while they appear solid, there’s a brittle fragility to them too. Ways in which they are similar: they’re tricky to poach, can potentially be very messy and come in large batches (containing the occasional stinker). Ways in which songs by The Lovely Eggs differ from actual lovely eggs: they’re crap in omelettes, weren’t laid by hens and (probably) won’t give you salmonella.