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In a calm area of the Irish capital, a man stands in his driveway, dressed in a vest and voicing his feelings. “I notice myself getting quieter. More invisible,” remarks the protagonist, staring toward the stars. “Events have unfolded and currently it seems if I don’t do something, my life will proceed in this simple, peaceful routine.” His friend Paul, his closest and only friend, ponders the idea. “That's perfectly fine,” he responds, his bathrobe swaying with the wind. “Preferable to trying to make a mark only to wind up defacing it.”

For anyone exhausted by the chaos and constant stimulation of modern television terrain, Leonard and Hungry Paul steps in similar to a cozy wrap and a comforting beverage of a sweet cordial.

Similar to its quiet characters, the series – a six-episode program developed by Richie Conroy and Mark Hodkinson, adapted from Rónán Hession’s quiet story – casts a critical eye toward today's world; gazing critically through its prematurely middle-aged glasses toward anything related to loud sounds, abrupt changes or – goodness forbid – excessive aspiration. The program is, instead, a celebration of shyness; a quiet celebration for those satisfied to wander out of the spotlight. However. He (one more distinctly original turn from the star) feels restless. He notices a creeping “urge to throw open the openings within my world … just a bit.” The loss of his mother has whisked the rug from under his slippers and this young man, an anonymous author, now feels reconsidering the paths that have brought him to this point (single; sporting facial hair; working on multiple kids' reference books for an employer who concludes emails with the phrase “goodbye for now”).

And so Leonard launches an exploration for emotional fulfilment, with the slightly bolder friend Paul (Laurie Kynaston) acting as his confidante, guide and co-conspirator during their regular gaming session that serves both as discussion (“Is the pool warm due to children urinating, or do kids pee in it because it’s warm?”) and sanctuary.

(How did Paul get his nickname? No idea. The beginning of this name seems forgotten to the mists of time. It could be that he once ate a snack very fast, or reacted to an awkward situation by hastily opening some food items by biting into them).

Into Leonard’s gentle world bursts a vibrant character (Jamie-Lee O’Donnell), a recent spring-loaded colleague who cheerily offers to eliminate Leonard’s appalling boss (the character) at a fire practice. The rushing noise audible is Leonard’s gentle world experiencing a revolution.

In other scenes in the initial show of the comedy not heavily plotted and more by what a modern audience may refer to as “atmosphere”, we meet Hungry Paul’s dad (the brilliant the actor), a tired character who privately views, records then replays daytime quiz shows to dazzle his adoring wife with his general knowledge.

Shepherding viewers amidst this minor-key niceness is a narrator who closely resembles – and, indeed, very much is – Julia Roberts. Indeed, Julia Roberts. In case you're considering, “surely the inclusion of such a famous actor clashes with the show's modest approach and initially serves only as an interruption?” that's accurate. Nevertheless, Roberts acquits herself well, and lines for example “Leonard's challenge is his absence of an expression of discovery” contribute to ensuring that initial doubts fade though not complete approval, then at minimum tolerance.

But that’s enough grumbling at this time. Leonard and Hungry Paul’s heart has good intentions: the right place being “located on a seat in the company of gentle comedies, showing its preferred bird.” It’s a series that strolls leisurely in its sleeveless jumper, sometimes gazing upward toward the sky, sometimes downward at its feet, serenely certain that there is nothing in the world as heartening as passing time in the company of close companions.

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