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In a calm neighborhood of Dublin, a person can be found outside his home, sporting a sleeveless jumper and sharing his concerns. “I notice myself getting quieter. Harder to see,” remarks the protagonist, looking into the darkness. “Events have unfolded and currently I feel like if I don’t do something, my life will proceed in this minor, harmless existence.” Hungry Paul, his only and only friend, reflects on these words. “There's no harm in that,” he answers, his bathrobe moving with the wind. “Superior to attempting to leave an impact and causing harm instead.”

For anyone weary by the bluster and constant stimulation of today’s TV terrain, Leonard and Hungry Paul steps in as a warm cover with a hot drink of blackcurrant juice.

In line with its quiet characters, this comedy – a six-part comedy written by the writing duo, adapted from the novelist’s quiet book – casts a critical eye at modern life; gazing skeptically above its spectacles on everything that involves unnecessary noise, sudden movements or – heaven forfend – too much drive. The series is, instead, a tribute to quiet people; a quiet celebration for those content to wander out of the spotlight. And yet. He (a further distinctly original performance from the star) is unsettled. He senses a growing “desire to unlock the openings in my existence … just a bit.” The recent death of his mother has pulled the carpet away from his feet and Leonard, a writer for others, now realizes questioning the choices which led him to his current situation (single; sporting facial hair; working on several children’s encyclopedias for a boss who signs off emails saying “goodbye for now”).

And so Leonard starts on a journey for personal satisfaction, alongside his more outgoing Hungry Paul (the actor) functioning as his trusted friend, mentor and ally in a weekly gaming session that serves both as discussion (“Does the pool feel warm due to children urinating, or is it that kids pee as it's heated?”) and safe space.

(Why “Hungry” Paul? It's unclear. The beginning of the moniker seems forgotten in mystery. Perhaps he previously devoured a sandwich very fast, or answered to a tense moment by nervously peeling several snacks by biting into them).

Into Leonard’s gentle world comes Shelley (the actress), a recent lively associate who cheerily offers to eliminate the awful manager (the character) during the office fire drill. The rushing noise audible represents Leonard's calm life undergoing a shake-up.

Elsewhere during the opening installment of this program driven less by plot and more on what a modern audience may refer to as “mood”, viewers encounter Paul's father (the consistently great Lorcan Cranitch), a tired character who privately views, saves and reviews television game programs to amaze his devoted partner using his trivia skills.

Guiding us amidst this subtle warmth there is a voiceover who closely resembles – and truly is – Julia Roberts. Yes, Julia Roberts. In case you're considering, “surely the use of a big-name celebrity contradicts the show's modest approach and initially serves only as a distraction?” that's accurate. However, Roberts acquits herself well, and dialogue such as “The issue with Leonard is that he lacks a look of sudden insight” assist in making sure that initial doubts fade if not quite to appreciation, then at minimum tolerance.

But that’s enough grumbling at this time. The series' spirit has good intentions: the right place being “sitting on a park bench next to the Detectorists, showing its favourite duck.” The program that strolls leisurely wearing its simple clothes, sometimes gazing upward toward the sky, sometimes downward at its feet, serenely certain that there is nothing in the world as cheering as being with dear pals.

Open the doors and windows of your life, a little, and let it in.