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In a quiet suburb of Dublin, an individual stands in his driveway, sporting a sleeveless jumper and voicing his feelings. “I notice I'm becoming more silent. Less noticeable,” remarks Leonard, staring into the darkness. “Events have unfolded and at this point I believe unless I take action, I will continue in this quiet, unremarkable life.” His friend Paul, his closest confidant, considers the idea. “That's perfectly fine,” he responds, his robe swaying gently. “Better than striving for recognition and ending up damaging things.”

For those tired by the chaos and fast pace of today’s TV terrain, the show steps in like a warm cover and a comforting beverage of Ribena.

Similar to its quiet characters, Leonard and Hungry Paul – a six-episode show created by Richie Conroy and Mark Hodkinson, inspired by the novelist’s subtle 2019 novel – casts a critical eye at modern life; gazing critically through its eyewear on everything that involves unnecessary noise, sudden movements or – perish the thought – excessive aspiration. This show is, instead, a celebration of shyness; a gentle tribute to people satisfied to amble along away from attention. But. Leonard (another sublimely idiosyncratic turn from Alex Lawther) is unsettled. He senses a creeping “need to open the doors and windows within my world … just a bit.” The recent death of his beloved mother has whisked the rug from under his slippers and Leonard, a writer for others, now feels doubting the decisions which led him to this point (single; with a protective mustache; creating a range of educational volumes for a man who ends messages saying “ciao for now”).

Therefore Leonard launches on a journey for personal satisfaction, accompanied by the somewhat braver Hungry Paul (Laurie Kynaston) serving as his close companion, life coach and co-conspirator in a recurring gaming session functioning as both discussion (“Is the pool warm due to children urinating, or is it that kids pee as it's heated?”) and safe space.

(What's the origin of "Hungry" Paul? It's unclear. The origin of this name appears lost in history. It could be that Paul previously devoured a sandwich very fast, or answered to a socially fraught incident by panic-peeling several snacks with his teeth).

Arriving in Leonard's calm existence bursts Shelley (the performer), a fresh lively co-worker who happily suggests to get rid of his terrible supervisor (the actor) during the office fire drill. The rushing noise noticeable is Leonard’s gentle world being turned upside down.

Elsewhere in the initial show of a series driven less by plot and more on what the under-30s may refer to as “mood”, we meet Paul's father (the brilliant the actor), a tired character who secretly watches, records then replays television game programs to dazzle his adoring wife through his fact recall.

Leading the audience amidst this minor-key niceness there is a voiceover that is unmistakably – and truly is – the Hollywood icon. Truly, the star. Should you wonder, “certainly the presence of such a famous actor is at odds with the program's low-key style and starts off as just a distraction?” you would be correct. Still, Roberts acquits herself well, and dialogue like “The issue with Leonard is the missing a look of sudden insight” help ensure that early misgivings yield if not full admiration, then at minimum tolerance.

Enough complaining currently. The show's core is in the right place: that place is “sitting on a park bench next to the Detectorists, pointing out the duck it loves.” The program that strolls leisurely wearing its simple clothes, sometimes gazing upward into space, at other times looking toward the ground, quietly confident that there is nothing on Earth as uplifting as being in the company of good friends.

Unlock the entryways in your existence, just a bit, and let it in.