Where exactly is Ayckbourn Land? Certainly nowhere near Carfax, as I passed one of those pathetic, loud confrontations that thankfully petered out to nothing a few minutes after curtain-down.

No, his dramas are far less hysterically obvious and seem to be rooted forever in the early 1960s, with furniture, wallpaper and pauses to match. He always teases with the titles of his plays and, 71 on, this one is no exception, for Beth (Liza Goddard) is a recently-bereaved widow, and life to her remains vital despite the various angsts of those who gather round her for Christmas.

The point is that Beth – while certainly a bit sad at the passing of her Gordon – is perfectly in control: “As husbands go . . . well, he’s gone.” Her sister Connie (Eileen Battye), however, drinks a lot and worries too much; her son Martin (Richard Stacey) is such an inadequate on all fronts that Beth copes as only a loving mother can, and Terence Booth as David, the vicar, amusingly tries too hard to help while showing his own weaknesses. They all fall apart as she remains stolid.

It’s a fine performance by Liza Goddard: she is on stage throughout and is the mainstay of the show, with active eyes and mobile face – both assets needed when, at the end of Act One, dead Gordon reappears at the festive dining table.

Then, sadly, everything slows down. Adrian McLoughlin probably does as well as he can as the ghostly Gordon, but his post-death verbiage, reliving his and Beth’s marriage, drags and the longeurs are lifted only by Beth’s reactions. Ultimately, the play totters too long in highlighting the obvious premise: that Beth, having dutifully loved him in life, is quite relieved to have got shot of Gordon.

It would be remiss of me not to mention the subtlest performance: that of Ruth Gibson as the latest girl friend of the embarrassing Martin. She creates mayhem in the Christmas kitchen, loathes the limelight and says not a word.

Love and Beth is not a great product from Ayckbourn Land, but do not miss one single facial expression from Liza Goddard in this unchallenging play.

Oxford Playhouse, until Saturday. Tickets: tel. 01865 305305 (www.oxfordplayhouse.com)