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In a calm suburb of Dublin, a man stands in his driveway, dressed in a sleeveless jumper and sharing his thoughts. “I notice I'm becoming more silent. More invisible,” says Leonard, gazing toward the stars. “Events have unfolded and now I feel like if I don’t do something, I’ll just carry on in this quiet, unremarkable life.” Paul, his closest companion, considers these words. “There's no harm in that,” he responds, his robe moving in the breeze. “Preferable to striving for recognition and causing harm instead.”

For viewers tired by the noise and constant stimulation of modern television offerings, Leonard and Hungry Paul steps in similar to a cozy wrap and a comforting beverage of Ribena.

In line with its gentle leads, the series – a six-part show created by Richie Conroy and Mark Hodkinson, adapted from the novelist’s understated story – looks disapprovingly at modern life; gazing disapprovingly through its eyewear on everything related to disturbances, quick actions or – perish the thought – an abundance of ambition. The series is, instead, a celebration of shyness; a quiet celebration for those content to pootle around below the parapet. However. The character (another distinctly original turn from Alex Lawther) is unsettled. He senses a growing “desire to unlock the openings of my life … just a bit.” The recent death of his mother has whisked the rug away from his feet and the 32-year-old, a ghost writer, now realizes questioning the choices that directed him to his current situation (alone; with a protective mustache; creating multiple children’s encyclopedias for a man who signs off messages with the phrase “see you later”).

Therefore Leonard starts on a journey for personal satisfaction, with the slightly bolder Hungry Paul (the performer) serving as his confidante, mentor and ally in a recurring gaming session functioning as both symposium (“Is the pool warm due to children urinating, or do kids pee in it since it's warm?”) and safe space.

(Why “Hungry” Paul? The reason is unknown. The origin of the moniker seems forgotten in history. Maybe Paul once ate some food in record time, or responded to an awkward situation by panic-peeling some food items with his teeth).

Into Leonard’s gentle world bursts a new colleague (the performer), a fresh lively co-worker who lightheartedly proposes to kill his terrible supervisor (Paul Reid) in a workplace safety exercise. The swift movement audible is Leonard’s gentle world undergoing a shake-up.

Elsewhere in the initial show of a series focused less on story and more by what younger viewers could describe as “mood”, we are introduced to Hungry Paul’s dad (the consistently great the performer), a tired character who privately views, saves and reviews trivia competitions to amaze his devoted partner through his fact recall.

Leading the audience through all this minor-key niceness there is a voiceover that is unmistakably – and, indeed, very much is – Julia Roberts. Indeed, the star. If you are thinking, “certainly the inclusion of a big-name celebrity contradicts the program's low-key style and initially serves only as an interruption?” that's accurate. Still, Roberts does a good job, and dialogue such as “Leonard's challenge is his absence of an expression of discovery” assist in making sure that early misgivings fade though not complete approval, then certainly understanding.

No more criticism for now. Leonard and Hungry Paul’s heart has good intentions: that place is “located on a seat alongside similar shows, showing its preferred bird.” The program that moves gently in comfortable attire, at times staring toward the sky, occasionally down at its slippers, serenely certain that there is nothing in life as heartening as spending time alongside close companions.

Throw open the portals of your life, slightly, and let it in.