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In a quiet suburb of the Irish capital, a man is standing outside his home, dressed in a sleeveless jumper and voicing his thoughts. “It seems like my voice is fading. Harder to see,” states the protagonist, looking toward the stars. “Events have unfolded and now I feel like if I don’t do something, my life will proceed in this simple, peaceful routine.” Hungry Paul, his only and only friend, reflects on this statement. “Nothing wrong with that,” he responds, his dressing gown moving gently. “Better than attempting to leave an impact and ending up damaging things.”

For anyone weary by the noise and constant stimulation of today’s TV terrain, this series arrives like a warm cover with a hot drink of a sweet cordial.

In line with its gentle leads, the series – a six-part comedy written by its authors, inspired by Rónán Hession’s understated 2019 novel – takes a dim view toward today's world; peering critically through its eyewear on everything related to loud sounds, abrupt changes or – goodness forbid – an abundance of ambition. The series rather, a celebration of shyness; a quiet celebration to people happy to amble along below the parapet. But. The character (another distinctly original portrayal by the actor) is uneasy. He senses a creeping “need to open the entryways in my existence … slightly.” The passing of his parent has whisked the rug away from his feet and Leonard, a ghost writer, now finds himself doubting the decisions that have brought him to his current situation (unattached; with a protective mustache; working on several educational volumes for a man who ends correspondence using the words “see you later”).

Therefore Leonard starts on a journey to find happiness, accompanied by the somewhat braver Paul (Laurie Kynaston) serving as his confidante, guide and ally in a weekly gaming session that serves both as debate (“Is the pool warm because kids pee in it, or do children urinate as it's heated?”) and refuge.

(How did Paul get his nickname? The reason is unknown. The beginning of this name is shrouded in mystery. Perhaps he on one occasion consumed a snack in record time, or answered to an awkward situation by nervously peeling four scotch eggs using his teeth).

Arriving in Leonard's calm existence comes a vibrant character (Jamie-Lee O’Donnell), a recent lively colleague who cheerily offers to kill the awful manager (the character) at a fire practice. The rushing noise audible is Leonard’s gentle world experiencing a revolution.

In other scenes in the initial show of the comedy focused less on story and more by what the under-30s might call “vibes”, we meet Paul's father (the consistently great the performer), a worn-out individual who privately views, tapes and rewatches trivia competitions to impress his devoted partner using his trivia skills.

Leading viewers throughout this minor-key niceness is a narrator that is unmistakably – and, indeed, very much is – the Hollywood icon. Yes, Julia Roberts. In case you're considering, “surely the use of a major Hollywood star is at odds with the series’ unshowy MO and initially serves only as a diversion?” you're right. However, Roberts acquits herself well, and dialogue such as “Leonard's challenge is his absence of an expression of discovery” contribute to ensuring that early misgivings yield though not complete approval, then at least acceptance.

No more criticism at this time. Leonard and Hungry Paul’s heart is well-intentioned: which is “resting on a bench alongside similar shows, showing the duck it loves.” It’s a series that strolls leisurely in comfortable attire, at times staring at the stars, sometimes downward at its feet, serenely certain that nothing is on Earth as cheering as spending time with close companions.

Open the doors and windows of your life, slightly, and allow it entry.