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In a quiet suburb of Dublin, a man can be found on the pavement, dressed in a vest and voicing his feelings. “It seems like my voice is fading. Less noticeable,” says Leonard, staring toward the stars. “Circumstances have evolved and currently it seems unless I take action, I will continue in this quiet, unremarkable life.” Paul, Leonard’s best confidant, reflects on this statement. “That's perfectly fine,” he answers, his dressing gown swaying with the wind. “Better than striving for recognition and causing harm instead.”

For those exhausted by the bluster and constant stimulation of today’s TV landscape, Leonard and Hungry Paul comes as a foil blanket with a hot drink of a sweet cordial.

Like its harmless protagonists, the series – a six-part comedy developed by Richie Conroy and Mark Hodkinson, adapted from the author’s understated 2019 novel – takes a dim view toward today's world; looking skeptically through its eyewear at anything that involves loud sounds, sudden movements or – heaven forfend – excessive aspiration. This show is, instead, an ode to introversion; a subtle homage for those happy to pootle around below the parapet. But. He (a further uniquely quirky portrayal from the star) is unsettled. He notices an increasing “desire to unlock the entryways within my world … a little.” The loss of his parent has yanked the floor out from under him and this young man, a ghost writer, now feels reconsidering the choices which led him to his current situation (alone; defensively moustached; creating several educational volumes for a boss who ends messages using the words “goodbye for now”).

Thus Leonard starts on a journey to find happiness, alongside his more outgoing Hungry Paul (Laurie Kynaston) acting as his trusted friend, guide and partner in a recurring board games evening that serves both as debate (“Is the water heated due to children urinating, or is it that kids pee as it's heated?”) and refuge.

(How did Paul get his nickname? No idea. The origin of this name is shrouded in history. It could be that Paul previously devoured a sandwich in record time, or answered to a tense moment by panic-peeling some food items with his teeth).

Into Leonard’s gentle world comes a new colleague (the performer), a recent energetic co-worker who cheerily offers to kill the awful manager (the character) at a fire practice. That whooshing sound audible signals Leonard's peaceful routine undergoing a shake-up.

In other scenes during the opening installment of a series driven less by plot and centered around what the under-30s may refer to as “vibes”, we are introduced to Paul's father (the consistently great Lorcan Cranitch), a worn-out individual who secretly watches, records then replays trivia competitions to impress his devoted partner through his fact recall.

Guiding viewers amidst this gentle kindness is a narrator that is unmistakably – and, indeed, very much is – Julia Roberts. Yes, the celebrity. In case you're considering, “certainly the use of a big-name celebrity clashes with the show's modest approach and starts off as just a diversion?” you would be correct. Still, Roberts acquits herself well, and phrases for example “The issue with Leonard is his absence of a look of sudden insight” help ensure that early misgivings fade if not quite to appreciation, then at least acceptance.

But that’s enough grumbling at this time. Leonard and Hungry Paul’s heart has good intentions: that place is “resting on a bench alongside similar shows, pointing out the duck it loves.” This is a show that moves gently in comfortable attire, occasionally looking up into space, occasionally down at its slippers, calmly assured that there is nothing on Earth as uplifting as being in the company of close companions.

Throw open the portals of your life, just a bit, and allow it entry.