I think so too. I remember listening to the series of Uncle Mort, back in the 1980's while driving along in my car. It used to make long journeys fly by. It's not just the humour though, but the quality of his descriptive writing is exceptional. He has a beautiful and humorous way of describing things:
Describing a view of the city as dusk fell and as its lights shimmered in the distance, he wrote..
"the city twitched beneath the fat green thighs of the nearby hills"
Tinniswood spent some time in Sheffield and used to write for the The Star. That must have been back in the days when they had high standards! Very high standards!
The humour is very "Northern", often sardonic and takes unexpected twists.
There's the scene where Uncle Mort is at the graveside, burying his dearly departed wife. The vicar hands him a trowel to scoop the first bit of topsoil on top of the coffin laying in the grave. (As was the tradition). He hesitates for a moment, looks down sadly and rubs the soil from his trowel through his fingers whilst his mind seems far away. A family friend approaches him and touches him gently on the shoulder to offer support. "Are you alright?" - she asks, thinking the task is too much for him. He responds, "yeah, I was just thinking what a champion set of onions you could get from this topsoil".
In one of his books he describes a family member who used to keep chickens, but had to give it up because they were getting on his chest. His friend asks, "oh, do you mean bird flu?" and he says, "no, I mean they used to come in through the window when he was asleep on the settee and peck at his singlet".
Oh well, I think he's great anyhow! Or was. He died a few years ago of throat cancer apparently - a life-long pipe smoker.