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In a peaceful area of the Irish capital, a man stands outside his home, wearing a tank top and sharing his feelings. “It seems like myself getting quieter. Harder to see,” remarks the main character, staring into the darkness. “Circumstances have evolved and now I believe without a change, I’ll just carry on in this quiet, unremarkable life.” His friend Paul, his only companion, ponders these words. “That's perfectly fine,” he replies, his robe flapping gently. “Better than striving for recognition only to wind up defacing it.”

For anyone tired by the chaos and constant stimulation of modern television terrain, Leonard and Hungry Paul steps in like a warm cover and warming mug of Ribena.

Similar to its gentle leads, this comedy – a half-dozen installment comedy created by the writing duo, based on the novelist’s subtle story – takes a dim view at modern life; peering critically above its spectacles on everything related to loud sounds, sudden movements or – heaven forfend – excessive aspiration. The program on the contrary, a tribute to quiet people; a gentle tribute for those content to wander out of the spotlight. And yet. Leonard (another uniquely quirky turn from the star) is unsettled. He notices a creeping “desire to unlock the openings of my life … just a bit.” The loss of his parent has whisked the rug out from under him and this young man, an anonymous author, now feels questioning the choices that have brought him to this point (single; defensively moustached; creating multiple educational volumes for a man who concludes correspondence with the phrase “ciao for now”).

And so Leonard begins an exploration to find happiness, alongside his more outgoing Hungry Paul (Laurie Kynaston) functioning as his confidante, mentor and ally in a weekly gaming session functioning as both symposium (“Does the pool feel warm from kids relieving themselves, or do kids pee in it as it's heated?”) and safe space.

(What's the origin of "Hungry" Paul? It's unclear. The source of this name is shrouded to the mists of time. Maybe the postal worker on one occasion consumed a sandwich unusually quickly, or responded to a tense moment by nervously peeling some food items by biting into them).

Entering Leonard's quiet life cartwheels a vibrant character (the performer), a fresh spring-loaded co-worker who lightheartedly proposes to eliminate the awful manager (Paul Reid) in a workplace safety exercise. The rushing noise audible represents Leonard's calm life experiencing a revolution.

In other scenes in the first episode of this program not heavily plotted and centered around what the under-30s could describe as “vibes”, we are introduced to Hungry Paul’s dad (the ever-wonderful the performer), a battered sofa of a man who secretly watches, saves and reviews television game programs to dazzle his adoring wife using his trivia skills.

Leading the audience through all this subtle warmth we hear a narrator that sounds very much like – and actually is – Julia Roberts. Indeed, the celebrity. Should you wonder, “undoubtedly the inclusion of such a famous actor clashes with the series’ unshowy MO and starts off as just a diversion?” you're right. Still, Roberts acquits herself well, and phrases like “Leonard’s problem is his absence of an expression of discovery” help ensure that first reservations give way if not quite to appreciation, then at minimum tolerance.

Enough complaining currently. The show's core is well-intentioned: the right place being “located on a seat alongside similar shows, pointing out its favourite duck.” This is a show that moves gently wearing its simple clothes, at times staring into space, occasionally down at its slippers, quietly confident that no experience is on Earth as cheering as passing time with dear pals.

Unlock the entryways in your existence, just a bit, and welcome it inside.