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In a quiet suburb of Dublin, a person stands in his driveway, sporting a vest and sharing his feelings. “I feel myself getting quieter. Harder to see,” states Leonard, gazing into the darkness. “Circumstances have evolved and currently it seems without a change, my life will proceed in this quiet, unremarkable life.” His friend Paul, his closest and only friend, ponders these words. “That's perfectly fine,” he responds, his robe swaying with the wind. “Preferable to trying to make a mark only to wind up defacing it.”

For anyone weary by the bluster and fast pace of modern television landscape, the show steps in similar to a foil blanket and a comforting beverage of Ribena.

Like its quiet characters, Leonard and Hungry Paul – a six-episode comedy created by the writing duo, adapted from the author’s quiet 2019 novel – looks disapprovingly toward today's world; gazing skeptically through its spectacles toward anything in the way of unnecessary noise, abrupt changes or – heaven forfend – too much drive. The program on the contrary, a tribute to quiet people; a gentle tribute for those happy to wander out of the spotlight. But. He (one more sublimely idiosyncratic turn from the star) feels restless. He feels a growing “desire to unlock the entryways within my world … slightly.” The recent death of his beloved mother has pulled the carpet from under his slippers and the 32-year-old, an anonymous author, now finds himself reconsidering the decisions which led him to his current situation (alone; sporting facial hair; creating multiple children’s encyclopedias for a boss who ends messages saying “ciao for now”).

And so Leonard starts himself on a quest for personal satisfaction, alongside his more outgoing friend Paul (Laurie Kynaston) acting as his trusted friend, mentor and co-conspirator during their regular game night which acts as debate (“Is the pool warm from kids relieving themselves, or do children urinate as it's heated?”) and sanctuary.

(What's the origin of "Hungry" Paul? It's unclear. The source of the nickname seems forgotten in history. Perhaps Paul on one occasion consumed a snack in record time, or reacted to a tense moment by hastily opening four scotch eggs by biting into them).

Entering Leonard's quiet life cartwheels a new colleague (Jamie-Lee O’Donnell), a fresh lively colleague who lightheartedly proposes to get rid of Leonard’s appalling boss (the actor) in a workplace safety exercise. The swift movement noticeable signals Leonard's peaceful routine undergoing a shake-up.

In other scenes during the opening installment of a series not heavily plotted and more on what the under-30s might call “atmosphere”, we are introduced to Paul's father (the brilliant the performer), a battered sofa of a man who covertly observes, tapes and rewatches daytime quiz shows to impress his loving spouse with his general knowledge.

Shepherding the audience amidst this minor-key niceness is a narrator that is unmistakably – and truly is – the Hollywood icon. Yes, the star. In case you're considering, “undoubtedly the use of a major Hollywood star clashes with the program's low-key style and at first acts merely as an interruption?” that's accurate. However, Roberts acquits herself well, and phrases for example “Leonard’s problem is his absence of a ‘eureka’ face” assist in making sure that initial doubts give way if not full admiration, then at minimum tolerance.

But that’s enough grumbling currently. The series' spirit is well-intentioned: that place is “sitting on a park bench alongside similar shows, pointing out the duck it loves.” The program that moves gently wearing its simple clothes, occasionally looking up toward the sky, occasionally down at its slippers, quietly confident that no experience is in the world as uplifting as passing time alongside dear pals.

Open the doors and windows of your life, slightly, and welcome it inside.