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In a quiet area of the Irish capital, a man can be found in his driveway, wearing a vest and sharing his concerns. “I notice my voice is fading. Harder to see,” states the protagonist, looking up at the night sky. “One thing’s led to another and now I feel like without a change, I will continue in this simple, peaceful routine.” His friend Paul, his closest and only friend, considers the idea. “There's no harm in that,” he responds, his bathrobe swaying in the breeze. “Superior to attempting to leave an impact and ending up damaging things.”

For viewers tired by the bluster and rat-tat-tat of today’s TV offerings, Leonard and Hungry Paul steps in like a warm cover with a hot drink of Ribena.

Like its quiet characters, the series – a six-episode program developed by the writing duo, based on the novelist’s understated story – looks disapprovingly toward today's world; gazing critically over its eyewear toward anything in the way of loud sounds, quick actions or – heaven forfend – an abundance of ambition. This show rather, a celebration of shyness; a gentle tribute of those happy to amble along below the parapet. But. Leonard (a further sublimely idiosyncratic portrayal by the actor) is unsettled. He feels a growing “urge to throw open the openings of my life … slightly.” The loss of his mother has yanked the floor out from under him and Leonard, a writer for others, now finds himself reconsidering the choices that have brought him to his current situation (alone; defensively moustached; writing a range of educational volumes for a man who signs off correspondence saying “ciao for now”).

And so Leonard starts an exploration for personal satisfaction, with the slightly bolder Hungry Paul (the performer) functioning as his trusted friend, mentor and partner in a weekly board games evening functioning as both discussion (“Is the pool warm due to children urinating, or do kids pee in it as it's heated?”) and refuge.

(Why “Hungry” Paul? It's unclear. The beginning of the moniker seems forgotten in mystery. Perhaps the postal worker on one occasion consumed a sandwich in record time, or reacted to a tense moment by panic-peeling several snacks with his teeth).

Entering Leonard's quiet life comes a vibrant character (Jamie-Lee O’Donnell), a new spring-loaded co-worker who happily suggests to kill his terrible supervisor (the character) during the office fire drill. That whooshing sound you can hear represents Leonard's calm life undergoing a shake-up.

Elsewhere during the opening installment of the comedy not heavily plotted and more by what the under-30s may refer to as “mood”, viewers encounter the older generation (the ever-wonderful the performer), a battered sofa of a man who secretly watches, saves and reviews trivia competitions to amaze his adoring wife using his trivia skills.

Leading us throughout this subtle warmth is a narrator who closely resembles – and actually is – the famous actress. Indeed, Julia Roberts. Should you wonder, “certainly the inclusion of such a famous actor clashes with the series’ unshowy MO and at first acts merely as a diversion?” you would be correct. Still, Roberts acquits herself well, and lines such as “The issue with Leonard is the missing a look of sudden insight” contribute to ensuring that first reservations yield if not quite to appreciation, then at least acceptance.

Enough complaining currently. The series' spirit is in the right place: which is “located on a seat alongside similar shows, indicating the duck it loves.” The program that strolls leisurely wearing its simple clothes, occasionally looking up at the stars, occasionally down toward the ground, serenely certain that there is nothing in life as heartening as being with good friends.

Unlock the entryways in your existence, a little, and let it in.