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In a calm suburb of the Irish capital, a man is standing on the pavement, sporting a vest and voicing his feelings. “I feel my voice is fading. Harder to see,” says the protagonist, staring toward the stars. “One thing’s led to another and at this point I believe if I don’t do something, I will continue in this minor, harmless existence.” Paul, his only and only friend, considers these words. “There's no harm in that,” he answers, his bathrobe flapping gently. “Preferable to striving for recognition and ending up damaging things.”

For anyone tired by the noise and fast pace of modern television landscape, Leonard and Hungry Paul arrives similar to a warm cover and a comforting beverage of blackcurrant juice.

Similar to its harmless protagonists, the series – a six-episode show developed by the writing duo, based on the novelist’s subtle story – casts a critical eye on contemporary society; peering skeptically above its spectacles toward anything that involves loud sounds, quick actions or – heaven forfend – too much drive. This show on the contrary, a celebration of shyness; a gentle tribute to people content to wander out of the spotlight. However. The character (one more sublimely idiosyncratic performance from Alex Lawther) is uneasy. He senses an increasing “urge to throw open the openings of my life … slightly.” The loss of his parent has yanked the floor from under his slippers and this young man, a ghost writer, now realizes questioning the choices which led him to his current situation (single; with a protective mustache; creating a range of educational volumes for a boss who ends correspondence saying “see you later”).

And so Leonard begins an exploration for personal satisfaction, with the slightly bolder Paul (the actor) functioning as his trusted friend, mentor and partner during their regular board games evening functioning as both symposium (“Does the pool feel warm due to children urinating, or do children urinate because it’s warm?”) and safe space.

(Why “Hungry” Paul? It's unclear. The source of the moniker is shrouded in mystery. Perhaps he once ate a sandwich unusually quickly, or responded to a socially fraught incident by hastily opening four scotch eggs by biting into them).

Into Leonard’s gentle world comes Shelley (the performer), a fresh spring-loaded associate who happily suggests to kill the awful manager (the character) at a fire practice. The swift movement audible represents Leonard's calm life undergoing a shake-up.

In other scenes in the initial show of this program not heavily plotted and more on what younger viewers could describe as “atmosphere”, we meet Paul's father (the ever-wonderful the actor), a battered sofa of a man who covertly observes, records then replays television game programs to impress his devoted partner through his fact recall.

Shepherding viewers throughout this minor-key niceness is a narrator that sounds very much like – and truly is – the famous actress. Truly, the star. Should you wonder, “undoubtedly the inclusion of a major Hollywood star clashes with the series’ unshowy MO and initially serves only as a diversion?” that's accurate. Still, Roberts does a good job, and dialogue like “Leonard’s problem is the missing a look of sudden insight” assist in making sure that initial doubts yield though not complete approval, then at least acceptance.

But that’s enough grumbling for now. Leonard and Hungry Paul’s heart is in the right place: which is “located on a seat in the company of gentle comedies, showing its favourite duck.” This is a show that ambles along in its sleeveless jumper, at times staring into space, occasionally down toward the ground, serenely certain that nothing is in life as heartening as passing time in the company of close companions.

Open the doors and windows of your life, just a bit, and welcome it inside.