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In a peaceful neighborhood of the city, a person stands outside his home, wearing a sleeveless jumper and voicing his concerns. “I feel my voice is fading. More invisible,” remarks the protagonist, looking up at the night sky. “Events have unfolded and now I feel like unless I take action, I will continue in this minor, harmless existence.” Paul, Leonard’s best and only friend, considers these words. “That's perfectly fine,” he responds, his dressing gown swaying gently. “Preferable to trying to make a mark and causing harm instead.”

For anyone tired by the noise and constant stimulation of current streaming offerings, Leonard and Hungry Paul comes like a foil blanket and a comforting beverage of a sweet cordial.

Similar to its quiet characters, the series – a six-episode comedy created by the writing duo, inspired by Rónán Hession’s understated story – casts a critical eye toward today's world; peering disapprovingly over its eyewear toward anything in the way of unnecessary noise, sudden movements or – goodness forbid – excessive aspiration. This show is, instead, a celebration of shyness; a gentle tribute for those content to pootle around below the parapet. However. Leonard (one more distinctly original performance from the star) is unsettled. He senses a growing “urge to throw open the entryways of my life … just a bit.” The recent death of his beloved mother has pulled the carpet out from under him and the 32-year-old, an anonymous author, now finds himself doubting the choices which led him to his current situation (unattached; defensively moustached; writing a range of children’s encyclopedias for a man who signs off correspondence saying “goodbye for now”).

And so Leonard begins on a journey for personal satisfaction, alongside his more outgoing friend Paul (the actor) functioning as his trusted friend, life coach and co-conspirator during their regular gaming session which acts as symposium (“Does the pool feel warm due to children urinating, or is it that kids pee since it's warm?”) and refuge.

(Why “Hungry” Paul? The reason is unknown. The beginning of this name seems forgotten in history. It could be that the postal worker once ate some food very fast, or reacted to a tense moment by hastily opening several snacks with his teeth).

Into Leonard’s gentle world cartwheels Shelley (Jamie-Lee O’Donnell), a new energetic associate who cheerily offers to kill Leonard’s appalling boss (Paul Reid) in a workplace safety exercise. The swift movement you can hear signals Leonard's peaceful routine experiencing a revolution.

In other scenes in the initial show of this program driven less by plot and centered around what the under-30s could describe as “vibes”, viewers encounter Hungry Paul’s dad (the ever-wonderful the performer), a battered sofa of a man who covertly observes, tapes and rewatches trivia competitions to impress his devoted partner using his trivia skills.

Shepherding the audience through all this subtle warmth there is a voiceover that sounds very much like – and truly is – Julia Roberts. Yes, the celebrity. Should you wonder, “undoubtedly the inclusion of such a famous actor clashes with the series’ unshowy MO and at first acts merely as a distraction?” you would be correct. However, Roberts does a good job, and lines such as “Leonard's challenge is that he lacks a ‘eureka’ face” assist in making sure that early misgivings fade if not quite to appreciation, then at least acceptance.

But that’s enough grumbling for now. The series' spirit is in the right place: that place is “located on a seat next to the Detectorists, indicating the duck it loves.” It’s a series that strolls leisurely in its sleeveless jumper, occasionally looking up at the stars, occasionally down at its slippers, quietly confident that nothing is on Earth as uplifting as spending time in the company of good friends.

Open the doors and windows in your existence, just a bit, and welcome it inside.