Harry Hill's Lonely Island

Harry Hill's series of short vignettes produced in the plague years are fairly standard for him, with a dose of classical slapstick - but they lack any huge belly laughs or pathos. In fact, I'd venture that all of these put together mean much less than the short film he made for Grayson Perry around the same time for his art club where Hill emotionally hugged a tree with a picture he'd drawn of his mum stuck to it. These are more standard surreal fare - although it's a shame the final episode was delayed for a year due to perceived sensitivities over the simple act of the queen rogering a fox in a tent.