
Harriet Richardson is not an angry person. Except, it seems, when it comes to art. “You could draw a line through most of my projects and find them founded in anger. Revenge. Fury.”
It was during her first Edinburgh Fringe that her newest idea blossomed. “I don’t know if you know much about the comedy circuit…” The 30-year-old asks, squinting her eyes at me. Male comedians? I’ve only ever heard wonderful things.