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The best – only? – Australian TV romcom wound up this week, and while the conclusion of Colin From Accounts might not have held any huge surprises, it remained a delightful ride right to the end. (I laughed, spat out my tea, I may have even teared up in the finale – not bad for a show in which the dialogue is peppered with casual uses of the word c— and insults such as “bitch hips”.)

And it was an incredible triumph for Australian comedy.

Created and written by its stars, husband-and-wife team Harriet Dyer and Patrick Brammall, Colin From Accounts was based on an idea Dyer had seven or eight years ago, not long after the pair had moved to LA. Dyer was reportedly bored while waiting to hear about an audition, and she and Brammall discussed the idea of a couple meeting after a nipple flash and a dog being hit by a car. Within a week or so, she’d written a script.

After years of pitching and a few false starts – none of the streaming services were keen, and while ABC developed the series for a while, they eventually passed on the project – Binge took a punt on the unlikely romcom.

Those other streaming services are likely all kicking themselves now – Colin From Accounts has become one of the most globally successful Australian comedies since Kath and Kim. Other recent local comedies such as Fisk and Deadloch have also achieved international success, but arguably not to the level of Colin, which has been sold to more than 100 countries, and won local Logies, AWGIE and AACTA awards, internationally picked up two Gotham TV Awards, a Satellite Award, and scored BAFTA, Rose D’Or and Venice TV award nominations.

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So what is it about this distinctly Australian series that has clearly touched a universal nerve?

While its premise is pure romcom, it’s one that breaks many – if not most – of the genre’s tropes. Not just one half of the series’ couple, Ashley (Dyer) and Gordon (Brammall) is flawed, as is usually the case – these two both have quirks, baggage and a habit of making bad decisions. Their “meet-cute”, in which Ashley flashed her boob at Gordon when he lets her cross the road, only to cause him to run over a dog, definitely isn’t the usual kind of saccharine, serendipitous meeting that leads, after a couple of bumpy moments, to love. Truly, I can’t think of another romcom set in motion by a nipple.

Instead, its immediate results are arguing, a seriously injured – and eventually high-needs – dog and massive vet bills. There was no instant attraction or acceptance of the other’s flaws, and no grand gesture. Well, OK, there was, but not until the end of season two, when Gordon proposed, at someone else’s wedding, and was rejected out-of-hand by Ashley.

It’s also distinctly Australian but not overbearingly so; it’s Sydney-set, but there’s not a single shot of the harbour; there’s swearing, authentic-sounding dialogue and colloquialisms. When US network executives suggested to Brammall and Dyer that change the phrase “this arvo” to “this afternoon” so international audiences would understand – read: Americans – the pair refused.

And of course, there’s the obvious chemistry between its leads: it’s not hard to buy Gordon and Ashley as a couple because these two don’t need to fake it. The chemistry also extends to the entire cast. There’s not a dud actor in the series; every cast regular is brilliant – Genevieve Hegney, Michael Logo, Emma Harvie, Virginia Gay and Helen Thomson. Even those with the smallest roles, such as Yvette the vet (Annie Maynard), who is Gordon’s ex, is terrific. And the addition this season of the fabulous Mark “Bob Downe” as Ashley’s gay dad (“He’s bisexual, darling,” says Lynelle) was a masterstroke.

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It’s also the dialogue – everyone, perhaps Lynelle’s flaky husband Lee (Darren Gilshenan) aside – sounds like a real person (although even he’s no longer so over the top in the current manosphere climate).

The banter, the friendly (and not so friendly) ribbing between mates and even the arguments really do feel authentic. In the first season, I knew this series was going to be good when Ashley, who is visiting Gordon’s house for the first time, says, “How long have you been single?” after she clocks a unicycle propped against the wall.

And in this season, when Chiara (Hegney) is banging on about her recent ADHD diagnosis, Gordon impatiently quips, “Who cares? You’re in your 40s, it’s not like you’re in year 8 maths distracting everybody”. Nobody has an earnest conversation with someone else while looking out of a window or gazing into a mirror. Disagreements aren’t wrapped up tidily after a serious chat.

Brammall and Dyer have said that many of the show’s storylines are based on people they know, or events that have happened to them or their mates (yes, even the scene where Ashley throws her poo out the window).

Despite the cringe-inducing moments – there’s bad behaviour, there’s casual sex, feces-flinging – Colin From Accounts, has real heart. In that way, it’s similar to Sharon Horgan’s brilliant comedy Catastrophe and Kat Sadler and Lizzie Davidson’s Such Brave Girls. It even reminded me in some parts of Arrested Development.

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While it’s been called “cringe comedy”, I wouldn’t label it as such. Throughout its three seasons, that hasn’t been the overarching vibe. It’s in the mix, sure, along with the romance, age-gap anxieties, overbearing parents, or dealing with parents dying or moving into care, workplace issues, the bills – it’s all of life.

This final season opened with a time-jump – three years since Gordon’s ill-advised proposal – which made the setting fresh. New jobs, new co-workers or bosses, and for Gordon and Ashley, new partners. And for viewers, a new dynamic; the perfect way to keep the series fresh.

We’ve had the will-they-won’t-they, the can-they-keep-it up of season two and this final season explored whether they really belong together.

But among the soul-searching, most importantly, the final season has been just as funny as the first two, another balance of utterly believable and often quite silly.

While many recent TV series are celebrated as “competency porn” – shows whose characters are hyper-capable, executing their jobs and lives with expertise – Colin From Accounts might just be incompetency porn. Seemingly nobody in this series has their shit entirely together which, let’s face it, is much more relatable.

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I’m sad to say goodbye to all the characters in Colin – even Lee! – but excited to see what Dyer and Brammall create next. And even more excited for what the show’s phenomenal success might mean for the future of Australian comedy – and the risk-averse TV commissioning editors who might be more inclined to pick up unconventional Australian scripts (not only for US re-makes) in Colin from Accounts’ wake.

Colin From Accounts is now streaming on Binge.

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