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In a quiet neighborhood of the Irish capital, a man stands outside his home, wearing a vest and voicing his feelings. “I notice myself getting quieter. Less noticeable,” says the main character, gazing up at the night sky. “Events have unfolded and now I believe without a change, I will continue in this simple, peaceful routine.” His friend Paul, Leonard’s best and only friend, considers these words. “There's no harm in that,” he answers, his robe moving gently. “Better than attempting to leave an impact only to wind up defacing it.”

For viewers exhausted by the chaos and rat-tat-tat of modern television landscape, Leonard and Hungry Paul comes like a warm cover with a hot drink of a sweet cordial.

Similar to its quiet characters, this comedy – a six-episode show written by the writing duo, inspired by the novelist’s subtle book – looks disapprovingly at modern life; gazing disapprovingly over its spectacles on everything that involves unnecessary noise, sudden movements or – perish the thought – too much drive. The program is, instead, a celebration of shyness; a quiet celebration to people satisfied to wander out of the spotlight. But. He (a further sublimely idiosyncratic performance from Alex Lawther) feels restless. He notices an increasing “urge to throw open the doors and windows of my life … a little.” The recent death of his parent has whisked the rug away from his feet and Leonard, an anonymous author, now finds himself doubting the paths that directed him to where he is (single; with a protective mustache; creating a range of educational volumes for an employer who concludes correspondence with the phrase “ciao for now”).

Thus Leonard launches himself on a quest to find happiness, with the slightly bolder Hungry Paul (the performer) serving as his close companion, guide and partner during their regular gaming session functioning as both debate (“Is the water heated from kids relieving themselves, or is it that kids pee as it's heated?”) and sanctuary.

(What's the origin of "Hungry" Paul? No idea. The origin of the nickname appears lost to the mists of time. Perhaps Paul previously devoured a snack in record time, or answered to a socially fraught incident by panic-peeling four scotch eggs using his teeth).

Arriving in Leonard's calm existence bursts a new colleague (the performer), a fresh lively colleague who happily suggests to get rid of his terrible supervisor (Paul Reid) in a workplace safety exercise. That whooshing sound noticeable represents Leonard's calm life being turned upside down.

Elsewhere in the initial show of a series driven less by plot and more by what younger viewers might call “mood”, we are introduced to the older generation (the ever-wonderful the performer), a worn-out individual who secretly watches, tapes and rewatches trivia competitions to amaze his adoring wife through his fact recall.

Leading the audience through all this subtle warmth there is a voiceover that sounds very much like – and actually is – Julia Roberts. Yes, Julia Roberts. In case you're considering, “certainly the presence of a major Hollywood star clashes with the program's low-key style and starts off as just a diversion?” you're right. Nevertheless, Roberts does a good job, and dialogue such as “Leonard’s problem is his absence of a ‘eureka’ face” assist in making sure that early misgivings yield if not quite to appreciation, then at least acceptance.

But that’s enough grumbling for now. The series' spirit has good intentions: that place is “resting on a bench next to the Detectorists, pointing out its preferred bird.” It’s a series that ambles along in comfortable attire, occasionally looking up at the stars, at other times looking at its slippers, serenely certain that there is nothing on Earth as heartening as passing time in the company of good friends.

Unlock the entryways within your world, just a bit, and let it in.