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In a peaceful neighborhood of Dublin, an individual is standing outside his home, sporting a tank top and voicing his thoughts. “It seems like myself getting quieter. Less noticeable,” remarks the main character, gazing up at the night sky. “Circumstances have evolved and now I believe without a change, my life will proceed in this quiet, unremarkable life.” Paul, his closest and only friend, reflects on this statement. “Nothing wrong with that,” he answers, his bathrobe flapping gently. “Preferable to trying to make a mark only to wind up defacing it.”

For viewers exhausted by the bluster and constant stimulation of modern television landscape, Leonard and Hungry Paul comes as a warm cover with a hot drink of a sweet cordial.

In line with its gentle leads, the series – a six-episode program developed by its authors, adapted from the author’s quiet book – looks disapprovingly on contemporary society; looking disapprovingly over its prematurely middle-aged glasses on everything that involves unnecessary noise, sudden movements or – heaven forfend – an abundance of ambition. The series on the contrary, a celebration of shyness; a quiet celebration for those content to pootle around away from attention. But. He (one more uniquely quirky performance from Alex Lawther) feels restless. He feels an increasing “urge to throw open the entryways in my existence … just a bit.” The loss of his beloved mother has whisked the rug out from under him and the 32-year-old, a writer for others, now finds himself doubting the paths that directed him to this point (single; sporting facial hair; creating multiple educational volumes for a boss who concludes emails saying “ciao for now”).

Thus Leonard begins himself on a quest for personal satisfaction, accompanied by the somewhat braver Paul (the actor) serving as his close companion, life coach and ally during their regular gaming session that serves both as debate (“Is the water heated from kids relieving themselves, or do kids pee in it since it's warm?”) and refuge.

(Why “Hungry” Paul? The reason is unknown. The source of the moniker is shrouded in history. It could be that he previously devoured a snack in record time, or responded to a socially fraught incident by panic-peeling several snacks by biting into them).

Arriving in Leonard's calm existence bursts a vibrant character (the actress), a new spring-loaded associate who cheerily offers to get rid of the awful manager (the character) during the office fire drill. The swift movement noticeable signals Leonard's peaceful routine undergoing a shake-up.

In other scenes in the initial show of this program focused less on story and more by what a modern audience could describe as “atmosphere”, we are introduced to the older generation (the consistently great the performer), a battered sofa of a man who privately views, records then replays daytime quiz shows to amaze his adoring wife through his fact recall.

Leading us throughout this minor-key niceness is a narrator that sounds very much like – and actually is – the Hollywood icon. Truly, Julia Roberts. Should you wonder, “undoubtedly the inclusion of such a famous actor is at odds with the series’ unshowy MO and initially serves only as a diversion?” you would be correct. Still, Roberts does a good job, and dialogue like “The issue with Leonard is his absence of an expression of discovery” assist in making sure that initial doubts fade if not full admiration, then at minimum tolerance.

No more criticism currently. Leonard and Hungry Paul’s heart has good intentions: that place is “located on a seat next to the Detectorists, showing its preferred bird.” It’s a series that strolls leisurely wearing its simple clothes, sometimes gazing upward toward the sky, at other times looking at its feet, quietly confident that no experience is in life as uplifting as spending time alongside close companions.

Throw open the portals in your existence, a little, and allow it entry.