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In a peaceful area of the Irish capital, a man is standing on the pavement, dressed in a sleeveless jumper and sharing his concerns. “I notice I'm becoming more silent. More invisible,” states the protagonist, gazing into the darkness. “One thing’s led to another and at this point I believe if I don’t do something, I’ll just carry on in this quiet, unremarkable life.” His friend Paul, his closest confidant, ponders the idea. “That's perfectly fine,” he answers, his robe swaying gently. “Superior to striving for recognition and ending up damaging things.”

For anyone exhausted by the chaos and constant stimulation of modern television offerings, the show steps in as a cozy wrap and a comforting beverage of blackcurrant juice.

In line with its quiet characters, the series – a six-part comedy developed by the writing duo, inspired by the novelist’s quiet book – looks disapprovingly on contemporary society; peering critically over its eyewear at anything in the way of unnecessary noise, quick actions or – heaven forfend – an abundance of ambition. The program is, instead, an ode to introversion; a gentle tribute to people happy to wander out of the spotlight. And yet. Leonard (one more distinctly original turn from the star) is unsettled. He notices a creeping “need to open the doors and windows within my world … just a bit.” The loss of his parent has whisked the rug from under his slippers and this young man, a ghost writer, now finds himself questioning the decisions that have brought him to his current situation (single; sporting facial hair; creating a range of children’s encyclopedias for a man who ends correspondence using the words “see you later”).

And so Leonard launches an exploration for personal satisfaction, with the slightly bolder friend Paul (the performer) serving as his confidante, guide and partner in a weekly board games evening which acts as discussion (“Is the pool warm due to children urinating, or do children urinate because it’s warm?”) and sanctuary.

(Why “Hungry” Paul? The reason is unknown. The origin of the nickname is shrouded in mystery. It could be that the postal worker previously devoured a snack very fast, or reacted to a tense moment by panic-peeling several snacks using his teeth).

Entering Leonard's quiet life comes a new colleague (Jamie-Lee O’Donnell), a recent spring-loaded co-worker who happily suggests to kill the awful manager (Paul Reid) at a fire practice. That whooshing sound audible signals Leonard's peaceful routine experiencing a revolution.

In other scenes in the initial show of a series not heavily plotted and centered around what younger viewers may refer to as “atmosphere”, viewers encounter Hungry Paul’s dad (the ever-wonderful the performer), a worn-out individual who covertly observes, tapes and rewatches daytime quiz shows to amaze his loving spouse with his general knowledge.

Leading the audience through all this subtle warmth we hear a narrator that sounds very much like – and truly is – Julia Roberts. Yes, Julia Roberts. Should you wonder, “undoubtedly the use of such a famous actor clashes with the series’ unshowy MO and at first acts merely as an interruption?” you're right. However, the actress performs admirably, and dialogue for example “Leonard's challenge is the missing a look of sudden insight” help ensure that initial doubts yield though not complete approval, then at minimum tolerance.

No more criticism at this time. Leonard and Hungry Paul’s heart has good intentions: the right place being “located on a seat alongside similar shows, showing its favourite duck.” It’s a series that strolls leisurely in its sleeveless jumper, occasionally looking up toward the sky, at other times looking at its slippers, calmly assured that there is nothing in the world as heartening as spending time in the company of dear pals.

Unlock the entryways of your life, just a bit, and welcome it inside.