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In a peaceful suburb of Dublin, a person stands outside his home, sporting a tank top and voicing his concerns. “I feel my voice is fading. More invisible,” remarks Leonard, gazing into the darkness. “Circumstances have evolved and currently I feel like without a change, I will continue in this minor, harmless existence.” Paul, his only confidant, ponders the idea. “There's no harm in that,” he replies, his dressing gown swaying with the wind. “Better than trying to make a mark only to wind up defacing it.”

For anyone weary by the chaos and fast pace of today’s TV terrain, this series steps in like a warm cover and a comforting beverage of a sweet cordial.

Like its quiet characters, Leonard and Hungry Paul – a six-part program developed by Richie Conroy and Mark Hodkinson, adapted from the novelist’s understated 2019 novel – casts a critical eye on contemporary society; looking skeptically through its eyewear at anything in the way of unnecessary noise, quick actions or – goodness forbid – too much drive. This show on the contrary, a tribute to quiet people; a gentle tribute to people happy to wander below the parapet. However. Leonard (another sublimely idiosyncratic turn from Alex Lawther) feels restless. He feels an increasing “need to open the entryways in my existence … just a bit.” The recent death of his parent has yanked the floor out from under him and this young man, an anonymous author, now realizes doubting the paths that directed him to where he is (single; with a protective mustache; creating several educational volumes for a man who concludes messages saying “goodbye for now”).

Thus Leonard begins himself on a quest for personal satisfaction, alongside his more outgoing friend Paul (the performer) acting as his close companion, mentor and co-conspirator in a recurring gaming session which acts as discussion (“Is the water heated because kids pee in it, or do children urinate because it’s warm?”) and safe space.

(How did Paul get his nickname? It's unclear. The origin of the nickname appears lost to the mists of time. It could be that he once ate some food unusually quickly, or answered to a socially fraught incident by panic-peeling four scotch eggs with his teeth).

Into Leonard’s gentle world comes a new colleague (the actress), a recent spring-loaded colleague who happily suggests to eliminate his terrible supervisor (the character) at a fire practice. The swift movement you can hear signals Leonard's peaceful routine being turned upside down.

Elsewhere during the opening installment of the comedy not heavily plotted and more by what a modern audience might call “mood”, we are introduced to the older generation (the ever-wonderful the actor), a battered sofa of a man who privately views, tapes and rewatches trivia competitions to dazzle his adoring wife through his fact recall.

Shepherding the audience throughout this subtle warmth we hear a narrator who closely resembles – and actually is – the famous actress. Yes, Julia Roberts. In case you're considering, “undoubtedly the use of a big-name celebrity is at odds with the program's low-key style and starts off as just an interruption?” that's accurate. Still, Roberts acquits herself well, and dialogue for example “The issue with Leonard is that he lacks a look of sudden insight” help ensure that early misgivings give way though not complete approval, then at minimum tolerance.

But that’s enough grumbling at this time. The series' spirit is in the right place: the right place being “resting on a bench next to the Detectorists, showing its preferred bird.” It’s a series that moves gently in its sleeveless jumper, at times staring into space, occasionally down toward the ground, serenely certain that no experience is in life as uplifting as being with close companions.

Open the doors and windows in your existence, just a bit, and allow it entry.