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In a quiet neighborhood of the Irish capital, a person is standing in his driveway, wearing a tank top and expressing his concerns. “It seems like myself getting quieter. Less noticeable,” says the main character, staring toward the stars. “One thing’s led to another and currently I believe without a change, my life will proceed in this simple, peaceful routine.” His friend Paul, his only and only friend, ponders these words. “Nothing wrong with that,” he answers, his robe moving with the wind. “Superior to trying to make a mark and ending up damaging things.”

For anyone weary by the chaos and rat-tat-tat of modern television terrain, Leonard and Hungry Paul steps in similar to a cozy wrap and a comforting beverage of a sweet cordial.

Like its gentle leads, the series – a half-dozen installment program created by the writing duo, inspired by the author’s quiet story – looks disapprovingly on contemporary society; peering critically over its prematurely middle-aged glasses toward anything in the way of loud sounds, abrupt changes or – perish the thought – excessive aspiration. The series rather, an ode to introversion; a gentle tribute to people satisfied to wander below the parapet. And yet. Leonard (another sublimely idiosyncratic performance by the actor) is unsettled. He notices a creeping “need to open the doors and windows within my world … a little.” The loss of his parent has pulled the carpet from under his slippers and Leonard, a writer for others, now finds himself questioning the decisions that have brought him to his current situation (single; defensively moustached; creating multiple kids' reference books for an employer who ends messages using the words “goodbye for now”).

And so Leonard launches an exploration for personal satisfaction, alongside his more outgoing Paul (Laurie Kynaston) acting as his confidante, life coach and co-conspirator during their regular gaming session functioning as both debate (“Does the pool feel warm from kids relieving themselves, or do children urinate as it's heated?”) and refuge.

(Why “Hungry” Paul? No idea. The beginning of this name is shrouded to the mists of time. Maybe the postal worker on one occasion consumed a sandwich unusually quickly, or reacted to a tense moment by hastily opening several snacks using his teeth).

Arriving in Leonard's calm existence cartwheels Shelley (Jamie-Lee O’Donnell), a new lively colleague who happily suggests to kill Leonard’s appalling boss (Paul Reid) in a workplace safety exercise. That whooshing sound noticeable signals Leonard's peaceful routine being turned upside down.

Elsewhere during the opening installment of this program not heavily plotted and more on what the under-30s might call “mood”, we are introduced to the older generation (the brilliant Lorcan Cranitch), a tired character who privately views, records then replays trivia competitions to dazzle his devoted partner using his trivia skills.

Shepherding viewers through all this minor-key niceness we hear a narrator that is unmistakably – and actually is – the famous actress. Indeed, Julia Roberts. If you are thinking, “undoubtedly the use of such a famous actor contradicts the show's modest approach and starts off as just a distraction?” that's accurate. Still, the actress performs admirably, and lines like “Leonard's challenge is his absence of a ‘eureka’ face” help ensure that first reservations give way if not quite to appreciation, then at least acceptance.

Enough complaining at this time. The show's core is in the right place: that place is “sitting on a park bench alongside similar shows, pointing out its preferred bird.” This is a show that ambles along in comfortable attire, occasionally looking up at the stars, at other times looking at its feet, quietly confident that no experience is in life as uplifting as passing time with close companions.

Throw open the portals within your world, slightly, and let it in.