Small Prophets review: Mackenzie Crook's latest is a magical, comical delight that will bring joy to your life

They sit there, like the precious gold Lance and Andy search for with their metal detectors, waiting to be rediscovered – by me, or the kids - and when we find them, we'll do little jig, like Lance's gold dance, certain that we've struck treasure.

And now Detectorists will be joined by Crook's new series, Small Prophets (BBC2, Mon, 10pm), another low-key, whimsical, magical journey through the little weirdnesses of life.

And this sitcom is all about the little weirdnesses of life – and people – and how anyone who claims they're entirely normal is the weirdest of the lot.

Take Michael Sleep and his neighbour Clive, for example.

Michael's partner Clea disappeared seven years ago, and since then Michael has been unable to move on, collecting cardboard boxes of stuff – we haven't seen what yet – in every room, just enough space for a small breakfast table and a single chair.

The outside of his house is just as bad, with ivy growing everywhere, overgrown borders, weeds in the paving slabs and slowly-growing piles of junk.

All of this, of course, infuriates neighbour Clive (Big Boys' Jon Pointing), whose house is painted every shade of grey and drives a pristine Audi.

“Why can't he be normal?” Clive asks, which might be a perfectly reasonable question, except that by this point he is looking into Michael's garden with a pair of binoculars, having angled a mirror just-so, in order to get a reflected view of Michael's shed.

Which is where the magic comes in.

Michael is making homunculi in big jars of water in that shed, tiny humanoid creatures which can predict the future and answer any question with absolute honesty.

At least, that's according to Michael's dad Brian (Michael Palin), who was shown how to make a homunculus by an Egyptian alchemist while he was stationed there with the army, the recipe written down in a notebook to be found by Michael.

The idea being that the homunculi can tell Michael where missing Clea is, so he can move on with his life.

It sounds weird, but this is weirdness firmly rooted in reality, and grounded by a terrific performance by Pearce Quigley as Michael, who has appeared in countless TV shows from The Gentlemen to Happiness to Cutting It and Showtrial, without ever getting the leading role he clearly deserves.

His bone dry delivery is put to particularly good effect in Michael's workplace, a local DIY barn lorded over by Gordon (Crook himself), a moustachioed, pony-tailed drone who is a slave to his intercom headset.

Here Michael delights in making fun of both Gordon and the customers. He tells one they don't sell buckets – while standing in front of a huge shelf of buckets – and convinces another that a customer once invented a totally new colour, 'frelliple', at the paint mixing desk and became a millionaire.

Meanwhile, he makes friends with new colleague Kacey (Lauren Patel) and tries to avoid Clea's brother Roy (Paul Kaye) who wants Michael out of the house so he can sell it, declaring Clea to be officially dead.

Michael may seem weird, but he is a man simply trying to live his life the best way he can, while struggling with the trauma of Clea's disappearance. Quigley and Palin are brilliant together, and there are some laugh out loud moments.

It's beautifully-made, and lit like a movie, particularly the scenes where Michael is putting together the homunculus recipe in the shed.

In short, it's a delight – whimsical, magical, comical. A treasure that will bring you joy whenever you stumble across it.