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In a calm suburb of the Irish capital, a man is standing in his driveway, dressed in a vest and sharing his feelings. “I feel my voice is fading. More invisible,” states the protagonist, staring into the darkness. “Events have unfolded and currently it seems 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 responds, his dressing gown moving with the wind. “Superior to striving for recognition only to wind up defacing it.”

For anyone weary by the chaos and rat-tat-tat of modern television offerings, Leonard and Hungry Paul steps in like a warm cover with a hot drink of a sweet cordial.

Similar to its quiet characters, the series – a six-part comedy created by Richie Conroy and Mark Hodkinson, inspired by the author’s quiet 2019 novel – casts a critical eye at modern life; peering skeptically through its prematurely middle-aged glasses on everything that involves loud sounds, abrupt changes or – perish the thought – an abundance of ambition. The series on the contrary, a tribute to quiet people; a subtle homage for those satisfied to pootle around below the parapet. But. The character (one more uniquely quirky portrayal from Alex Lawther) feels restless. He senses a growing “desire to unlock the doors and windows within my world … just a bit.” The loss of his beloved mother has yanked the floor from under his slippers and Leonard, a writer for others, now feels doubting the decisions which led him to where he is (alone; defensively moustached; writing several educational volumes for an employer who concludes messages saying “see you later”).

Thus Leonard launches on a journey for emotional fulfilment, with the slightly bolder friend Paul (the performer) functioning as his trusted friend, life coach and co-conspirator during their regular gaming session that serves both as symposium (“Is the water heated due to children urinating, or is it that kids pee since it's warm?”) and safe space.

(What's the origin of "Hungry" Paul? No idea. The beginning of the moniker is shrouded in history. It could be that Paul once ate a snack unusually quickly, or reacted to a tense moment by hastily opening four scotch eggs by biting into them).

Entering Leonard's quiet life cartwheels a new colleague (the actress), a recent spring-loaded colleague who lightheartedly proposes to kill Leonard’s appalling boss (Paul Reid) at a fire practice. That whooshing sound noticeable is Leonard’s gentle world being turned upside down.

In another part during the opening installment of this program focused less on story and more on what the under-30s might call “mood”, viewers encounter Hungry Paul’s dad (the consistently great the performer), a battered sofa of a man who covertly observes, saves and reviews trivia competitions to impress his devoted partner using his trivia skills.

Guiding the audience throughout this gentle kindness we hear a narrator that sounds very much like – and, indeed, very much is – the Hollywood icon. Truly, Julia Roberts. If you are thinking, “undoubtedly the presence of a major Hollywood star contradicts the series’ unshowy MO and starts off as just an interruption?” that's accurate. Still, Roberts acquits herself well, and lines such as “Leonard's challenge is his absence of a look of sudden insight” assist in making sure that initial doubts yield if not quite to appreciation, then at least acceptance.

But that’s enough grumbling currently. The show's core is in the right place: that place is “sitting on a park bench in the company of gentle comedies, indicating its favourite duck.” The program that moves gently in comfortable attire, occasionally looking up into space, sometimes downward toward the ground, serenely certain that no experience is in the world as cheering as being with close companions.

Unlock the entryways within your world, a little, and allow it entry.