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In a peaceful suburb of Dublin, a man can be found in his driveway, wearing a sleeveless jumper and voicing his concerns. “It seems like myself getting quieter. Harder to see,” remarks the protagonist, looking toward the stars. “Circumstances have evolved and at this point I feel like unless I take action, I will continue in this minor, harmless existence.” His friend Paul, his only and only friend, considers these words. “That's perfectly fine,” he replies, his robe moving gently. “Better than trying to make a mark and causing harm instead.”

For those tired by the bluster and rat-tat-tat of modern television offerings, the show arrives like a cozy wrap with a hot drink of Ribena.

Like its quiet characters, Leonard and Hungry Paul – a six-episode show written by the writing duo, based on the novelist’s quiet story – casts a critical eye on contemporary society; gazing disapprovingly through its spectacles on everything related to disturbances, quick actions or – goodness forbid – excessive aspiration. The program rather, a tribute to quiet people; a subtle homage for those content to pootle around below the parapet. However. The character (one more uniquely quirky performance by the actor) feels restless. He feels a creeping “desire to unlock the openings in my existence … a little.” The passing of his beloved mother has whisked the rug out from under him and Leonard, a writer for others, now realizes reconsidering the decisions that have brought him to where he is (alone; with a protective mustache; working on several kids' reference books for an employer who signs off correspondence saying “see you later”).

Therefore Leonard starts himself on a quest for personal satisfaction, accompanied by the somewhat braver friend Paul (Laurie Kynaston) serving as his close companion, guide and partner during their regular gaming session which acts as symposium (“Does the pool feel warm because kids pee in it, or is it that kids pee because it’s warm?”) and safe space.

(Why “Hungry” Paul? The reason is unknown. The origin of the nickname appears lost in mystery. Perhaps Paul previously devoured a sandwich unusually quickly, or responded to a socially fraught incident by hastily opening some food items with his teeth).

Arriving in Leonard's calm existence bursts a vibrant character (Jamie-Lee O’Donnell), a recent energetic associate who happily suggests to kill his terrible supervisor (the actor) at a fire practice. That whooshing sound audible signals Leonard's peaceful routine being turned upside down.

In another part in the initial show of a series driven less by plot and more by what younger viewers might call “vibes”, we are introduced to Hungry Paul’s dad (the ever-wonderful the actor), a battered sofa of a man who privately views, tapes and rewatches trivia competitions to amaze his devoted partner using his trivia skills.

Leading the audience through all this minor-key niceness there is a voiceover that sounds very much like – and actually is – Julia Roberts. Truly, the celebrity. Should you wonder, “undoubtedly the presence of such a famous actor clashes with the series’ unshowy MO and initially serves only as a diversion?” that's accurate. Still, Roberts acquits herself well, and phrases like “Leonard’s problem is that he lacks an expression of discovery” contribute to ensuring that early misgivings fade if not quite to appreciation, then certainly understanding.

Enough complaining currently. Leonard and Hungry Paul’s heart is well-intentioned: that place is “located on a seat in the company of gentle comedies, showing its preferred bird.” The program that strolls leisurely in comfortable attire, occasionally looking up toward the sky, at other times looking toward the ground, calmly assured that nothing is on Earth as uplifting as being alongside dear pals.

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