Crank sparkles as Jimmy, all home-spun philosophy and menacing charm. The intensity of the performance from Hurstfield, meanwhile, ensures that the first rule of character acting is quickly achieved; you actually care what happens to Gavin.

Booth is better known as the front man of Manchester band, james. He doesn't get a huge amount of screen time but is utterly convincing as the boss of the debt collection agency and succeeds, in the short time he gets, in making De Souza entirely unlikeable. Other standout performances come from Ian Mercer, as Gavin's loyal friend, Mike, who steals the majority of the comedy moments and Mark Winstanley as Gavin's understated counsellor.

The writing, whilst unafraid of focussing on the mundane, completely avoids working-class cliché and leaves as much un-said as is possible on the big screen. This is complemented by the direction, all facial close-ups and powerful silence. The result is that Poor Wee Me is more closely allied to Shelagh Delaney's fifties kitchen sink drama A Taste Of Honey, albeit with a twenty-first century grittiness, than more recent British films.

The pivotal moment of the film, when Gavin realises that his employment by De Souza no longer suits his new state of calm, is entirely unspoken. Instead, we see Gavin, alternatively, dancing, staring into his pint and reminiscing, all sound-tracked by modern james classic, I Want To Go Home. Breathtaking stuff.

And then there is the ending, which is as un-Hollywood as it is possible to be. Recently, I was present when two former best mates met each other again in Manchester after almost a decade of no contact. They nodded at one another and then went to the pub. The finale to Poor Wee Me feels, to me, like the cinematic equivalent. OK, so some people may yearn for happily ever after, or even some kind of conclusion but don't let this put you off. This is real life, baby. Real Salford life.