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In a quiet neighborhood of Dublin, a man can be found outside his home, sporting a vest and voicing his concerns. “It seems like my voice is fading. Harder to see,” says the main character, gazing into the darkness. “Circumstances have evolved and at this point I feel like if I don’t do something, my life will proceed in this simple, peaceful routine.” Paul, his closest confidant, ponders these words. “That's perfectly fine,” he responds, his bathrobe moving with the wind. “Preferable to striving for recognition only to wind up defacing it.”

For anyone weary by the bluster and rat-tat-tat of modern television offerings, this series steps in like a cozy wrap with a hot drink of Ribena.

Like its gentle leads, Leonard and Hungry Paul – a six-part show written by the writing duo, based on the author’s understated book – takes a dim view toward today's world; peering critically above its spectacles on everything related to unnecessary noise, quick actions or – goodness forbid – too much drive. The program is, instead, a tribute to quiet people; a gentle tribute of those content to pootle around below the parapet. But. The character (a further uniquely quirky portrayal from the star) is unsettled. He notices an increasing “need to open the openings of my life … just a bit.” The passing of his mother has whisked the rug from under his slippers and the 32-year-old, an anonymous author, now feels doubting the choices which led him to this point (alone; with a protective mustache; creating several educational volumes for a man who ends emails using the words “ciao for now”).

Thus Leonard starts on a journey to find happiness, with the slightly bolder friend Paul (the performer) acting as his confidante, mentor and co-conspirator in a weekly board games evening that serves both as symposium (“Is the pool warm due to children urinating, or is it that kids pee because it’s warm?”) and sanctuary.

(Why “Hungry” Paul? It's unclear. The origin of this name appears lost to the mists of time. Perhaps Paul once ate some food unusually quickly, or answered to a socially fraught incident by nervously peeling some food items by biting into them).

Entering Leonard's quiet life cartwheels a new colleague (the actress), a new energetic co-worker who happily suggests to get rid of his terrible supervisor (the character) at a fire practice. The swift movement noticeable represents Leonard's calm life being turned upside down.

Elsewhere in the initial show of the comedy driven less by plot and centered around what the under-30s may refer to as “atmosphere”, we meet Paul's father (the consistently great Lorcan Cranitch), a tired character who secretly watches, saves and reviews television game programs to impress his adoring wife through his fact recall.

Shepherding us throughout this gentle kindness we hear a narrator that is unmistakably – and, indeed, very much is – the famous actress. Truly, Julia Roberts. Should you wonder, “certainly the inclusion of a big-name celebrity clashes with the show's modest approach and initially serves only as a distraction?” that's accurate. Nevertheless, Roberts acquits herself well, and lines such as “The issue with Leonard is his absence of a look of sudden insight” help ensure that first reservations fade if not quite to appreciation, then certainly understanding.

No more criticism currently. The show's core has good intentions: the right place being “sitting on a park bench alongside similar shows, indicating its favourite duck.” It’s a series that moves gently in its sleeveless jumper, sometimes gazing upward into space, occasionally down toward the ground, calmly assured that no experience is in life as uplifting as passing time with good friends.

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