LET’S get a few things out of the way first. The main characters are obnoxious, the class politics are extremely dubious and the portrayal of rural village life incredibly patronising. The geography is nonsensical, the history fantastical and the fashion impractical. But is A Castle for Christmas still worth loading up on Netflix? For the slow-motion montages alone, I have to say yes. If you haven’t watched Cary Elwes try to catch fake snowflakes on his tongue, you haven’t lived.

Novelist Sophie Brown (Brooke Shields) is having a hard time in New York. She’s killed off the leading man in her popular romance series and the readers are raging. With hindsight she should perhaps have taken a break from writing when going through a messy divorce that ended up inspiring her to push a fan favourite down some stairs.

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She needs to escape and get her mojo back. The answer is to go back to her Scottish roots and visit the castle where her grandfather once worked as a groundskeeper. So off she pops on a flight to Edinburgh, followed by a very expensive taxi ride along a series of lovely scenic roads that I’m pretty sure aren’t on the way to … um … Dunbar.

It’s about now that we need to start suspending disbelief, as our heroine turns into Snow White and is introduced to the dwarfs – sorry, locals – in the village pub. The knitting circle are so thrilled to have a new member that her total lack of knitting ability is overlooked.

The head knitter looks familiar. I’m sure I’ve seen that face somewhere before recently … perhaps on the wall of a police incident room? Mother of God, it’s Gail Vella! The murdered journalist from series six of Line of Duty. She isn’t dead at all, just hiding out in a fictionalised village, befriending rich Americans. Someone get Steve Arnott on the phone!

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It’s not long before Sophie heads over to the castle, where the twinkly-slash-grumpy Myles (Elwes) offers her a private tour. At first, she doesn’t realise he’s the Duke of Dunbar, and no wonder – why would such a person have an Irish/Canadian accent? He points out that the building has five staircases, which feels like it might be foreshadowing. Has he read her latest novel? Presumably not, as he’s too busy attending to leaks in the roof and angrily shooting clay pigeons. And “Dunbar” probably doesn’t have a book shop, given it has a population of 513.

Myles’s dog can’t get enough of Sophie, putting his paws all over her fashionable athleisure ensemble. “Have you meat in your pocket?” asks Myles, reminding us that he spends his days rattling around a castle, alone rather than chatting to attractive women. Clearly it’s money the canine can smell. Those leaks in the roof won’t fix themselves.

Left alone for five minutes, Sophie goes for a snoop-about in the areas she’s been specifically told are off-limits. Why should the rules apply to her? She’s been here at least five minutes, and is therefore Queen of Scotland. She’s caught in the act and giving a telling off, but such is her sense of entitlement that she decides Myles is a big meanie.

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Gail Vella lets slip that the castle is for sale, so Sophie marches back with her cheque book and she and Myles compete to see who can be the most obnoxious. It ends in a tie. Katharine Hepburn and Cary Grant they ain’t, but there are no surprises for guessing where this is going. Do they fancy each other, or resent each other? Both!

A couple of drams later and Sophie has signed a contract to buy the castle, but the catch is she must live there for a trial period first … with Myles. His plan is to torment her for three months in the hope she takes flight, leaving her deposit payment behind. What could possibly go wrong? Surely she won’t walk in on him in the bath, kidnap his dog, then start dressing up in his dead mother’s clothes?

All of this is, of course, a recipe for true love. The dwarfs – sorry, serfs, sorry knitters – help grease the wheels by singing the praises of their wonderful, charitable landlord, who is selling the castle to pay off debts on the land where they live. All this mere moments after helping Sophie move into a freezing cold attic room with peeling wallpaper and minimal furniture. Hmmmmm.

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Unable to stick with his original torment-her-into-leaving plan, Myles takes Sophie to sites of historic interest, goes to a pub sing-along with her, takes her horse riding for Christmas trees, and goes along with her plan to throw a party for the brainwashed little people. Then it’s the moment we’ve been waiting for – the montage! A bellowed Christmas song! A tartan wrap! Snow! Country dancing! However, the suggestion that Myles stay on in the castle with Sophie as a bidie-in/tenant/dwarf doesn’t go down well. Cut the music, cue the tears.

“Castles are meant to have walls around them; people aren’t”, says Myles’s manservant, profoundly, as Sophie trudges down the path. Myles has too much pride, she has too much money. If only he would read one of her bestselling romance novels, have an epiphany, pop on a nice kilt and a massive sporran and go and win her back. Oh wait, it’s happening … and we’re getting another montage! Robbie Williams croons as Myles remembers their slow-motion walks, her lovely smile, their planting of trees in a frozen forest, that night they got steaming in the hoose. She’s the one!

She’s certainly the one who will be paying the electricity bill, judging by the number of fairy lights strewn all over the castle (you can take the girl out of America...). The little people dance to celebrate the fact that they won’t be losing their homes. Hooray for the rich! Happy Christmas one and all.