If you’re looking for narrative cohesion, for songs with smooth edges and glossy production, you’ve come to the wrong place. What Bunkhouse lack in polished artistry, however, they make up for in charm. The Glasgow-based trio, with the Galwegian musician Laura Kelly in their ranks, plunder from the same lo-fi screwball pop silo as Dublin’s now defunct Grand Pocket Orchestra.

Brief blasts of melody collide with absurd lyrics, everything from “Gonna run this band like a call centre/ Gonna run this band like a fitness instructor”, on the po-faced synthpop of Middle Management, to the grimy squelch of Haulage (“Hot sticky leather, never been better/ Take it on the chin, so let’s begin”) and a tongue-in-cheek ode to the Irish death-notices website RIP.ie (“RIP.ie, everybody, eventually”).

Bunkhouse don’t take themselves too seriously at any juncture, but there are some catchy melodies and glimmers of greatness amid the silliness, most notably on the rough-around-the-edges Knuckle Down, Knuckle Head, the shimmering indiepop of Keir and the ramshackle weirdness of Tea Baby, which demonstrates the trio’s knack for a melodic earworm.

It’s never going to reach number one in the charts, but Bunkhouse already know that. In fact, it’s debatable whether you’ll return to this frivolous collection more than a handful of times, but it’s certainly a fun way to pass half an hour.