Harris in Pieces is a cheeky cabinet of comic miniatures-short stories and poems that tilt the everyday theatre of modern life into the light and let it sparkle. One minute, a head teacher is MacGyver-ing a shambolic school fête into triumph with nothing but duct tape, diplomacy, and tea. The next, a slippery minister sashays back to his old school for a PR waltz-polish on the surface, chaos in the wings. The joy is in the reveal: the distance between how we perform in society and who we really are.
The cast is gloriously, recognisably human. Parents keep up appearances on the school run. Critics and politicians buffing their images for a fickle press. Ordinary strivers who can turn even simple plans into slapstick. The laughs land fast with smart dialogue, razor-sharp asides, and social observations that make you wince, then cackle.
Threaded between the tales are nimble, mischievous poems that stretch the grin: a light-footed tour of French rituals and appetites; a gleeful "what if" about printed houses that spooks bankers and pundits; riffs on convenience, culture, and the small myths we live by. The verse is musical without being precious, generous without going soft.
What binds it all is a humane streak. Even the blowhards get a wink; even the chancers get their moment. Grace keeps popping up where you don't expect it, like on the touchline, under a PTA tent, in the breath held before a photo-op. Dip in anywhere or read straight through.
Either way, you'll get crisp setups, satisfying payoffs, and that aftertaste of recognition that lingers long after the laugh.
For fans of social comedy and modern satire, Harris in Pieces offers bite with benevolence-laugh-out-loud scenes, quotable lines, and the warm shock of seeing ourselves, just slightly
askew
