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In a peaceful suburb of the Irish capital, an individual can be found outside his home, sporting a tank top and sharing his concerns. “I feel I'm becoming more silent. Harder to see,” states the main character, looking toward the stars. “Circumstances have evolved and now I believe without a change, I will continue in this minor, harmless existence.” Paul, Leonard’s best confidant, considers this statement. “There's no harm in that,” he responds, his robe moving in the breeze. “Better than trying to make a mark only to wind up defacing it.”

For viewers weary by the noise and rat-tat-tat of today’s TV offerings, Leonard and Hungry Paul comes similar to a foil blanket and warming mug of blackcurrant juice.

Similar to its quiet characters, the series – a six-part comedy created by its authors, adapted from Rónán Hession’s understated book – casts a critical eye on contemporary society; peering disapprovingly over its eyewear toward anything related to disturbances, sudden movements or – perish the thought – an abundance of ambition. The program on the contrary, a celebration of shyness; a gentle tribute to people satisfied to pootle around away from attention. However. Leonard (another uniquely quirky performance from Alex Lawther) feels restless. He feels a growing “need to open the entryways in my existence … slightly.” The recent death of his beloved mother has whisked the rug out from under him and Leonard, a ghost writer, now realizes doubting the paths that directed him to where he is (single; sporting facial hair; writing multiple children’s encyclopedias for a man who ends emails using the words “see you later”).

Thus Leonard launches an exploration for emotional fulfilment, accompanied by the somewhat braver friend Paul (Laurie Kynaston) acting as his close companion, guide and partner during their regular gaming session functioning as both debate (“Is the water heated due to children urinating, or do kids pee in it since it's warm?”) and sanctuary.

(How did Paul get his nickname? The reason is unknown. The origin of the nickname is shrouded to the mists of time. It could be that he once ate a sandwich unusually quickly, or responded to a socially fraught incident by nervously peeling four scotch eggs using his teeth).

Entering Leonard's quiet life bursts a vibrant character (Jamie-Lee O’Donnell), a recent lively associate who happily suggests to eliminate the awful manager (the character) during the office fire drill. That whooshing sound noticeable represents Leonard's calm life experiencing a revolution.

In another part in the initial show of the comedy not heavily plotted and more on what the under-30s may refer to as “vibes”, we are introduced to Paul's father (the consistently great the performer), a tired character who covertly observes, records then replays trivia competitions to amaze his devoted partner through his fact recall.

Leading viewers through all this subtle warmth is a narrator that sounds very much like – and truly is – Julia Roberts. Truly, the celebrity. If you are thinking, “surely the presence of such a famous actor clashes with the program's low-key style and initially serves only as a diversion?” you would be correct. However, the actress performs admirably, and dialogue like “Leonard’s problem is that he lacks a look of sudden insight” help ensure that first reservations give way though not complete approval, then certainly understanding.

But that’s enough grumbling at this time. Leonard and Hungry Paul’s heart has good intentions: that place is “located on a seat in the company of gentle comedies, showing the duck it loves.” This is a show that strolls leisurely in its sleeveless jumper, occasionally looking up toward the sky, at other times looking at its slippers, calmly assured that no experience is in the world as cheering as spending time with close companions.

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