Slice by Mel Giedroyc

Set in a fully-functioning kitchen (the detail's in the Dettol) Slice examines a complete breakdown in relations between three sisters, together for the first time in years as their mother lies upstairs on her deathbed.

Middle sister Victoria, brimming with resentment after nine years looking after the old battleaxe, is frantically baking a Victoria sponge (get it?) as a disembodied voice utters strict instructions, while her siblings air plenty of grievances of their own. And what grievances they are: the eldest, Madeleine, back from her voluntary exile in America, announces to Charlotte: "The only thing we've ever had in common is your husband."

It is beautifully realised, with each sister being played almost, but not quite, to the point of caricature. The plot, while far from complex, is full of wonderfully subtle details: only when Victoria descends into a monologue about her disastrous 10th birthday party, for example, do we realise that we were hearing her mother's voice intoning the sponge recipe.

Some aspects of the show could perhaps be accused of being a touch trite, the jokes occasionally a little too conspicuous, but this is understandable given the need to make an impact in a short time. Despite sharing their names with cakes, the three sisters are far from saccharine and, in fact, the subtleties in the play serve to balance its more obvious moments, making it a charming and emotionally engaging piece.