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In a quiet area of the Irish capital, a man is standing on the pavement, wearing a vest and expressing his concerns. “It seems like my voice is fading. Harder to see,” states Leonard, looking toward the stars. “One thing’s led to another and now it seems without a change, my life will proceed in this minor, harmless existence.” Hungry Paul, his closest companion, ponders the idea. “That's perfectly fine,” he replies, his dressing gown moving with the wind. “Better than striving for recognition only to wind up defacing it.”

For those weary by the noise and fast pace of modern television offerings, this series arrives similar to a foil blanket and a comforting beverage of Ribena.

Similar to its quiet characters, Leonard and Hungry Paul – a six-part comedy developed by its authors, inspired by Rónán Hession’s understated book – takes a dim view at modern life; peering critically above its spectacles at anything related to loud sounds, quick actions or – perish the thought – excessive aspiration. This show is, instead, a celebration of shyness; a subtle homage to people satisfied to amble along below the parapet. However. He (one more uniquely quirky performance from Alex Lawther) is unsettled. He notices an increasing “desire to unlock the openings in my existence … slightly.” The passing of his parent has pulled the carpet away from his feet and the 32-year-old, a ghost writer, now feels doubting the paths that have brought him to where he is (unattached; with a protective mustache; working on several children’s encyclopedias for an employer who ends correspondence with the phrase “ciao for now”).

Therefore Leonard launches on a journey for personal satisfaction, with the slightly bolder friend Paul (the actor) functioning as his confidante, guide and partner during their regular board games evening functioning as both symposium (“Does the pool feel warm because kids pee in it, or do children urinate because it’s warm?”) and refuge.

(How did Paul get his nickname? No idea. The origin of this name seems forgotten in mystery. Perhaps he once ate a sandwich very fast, or reacted to an awkward situation by nervously peeling several snacks with his teeth).

Arriving in Leonard's calm existence comes Shelley (Jamie-Lee O’Donnell), a fresh energetic co-worker who happily suggests to get rid of his terrible supervisor (the character) at a fire practice. The swift movement you can hear signals Leonard's peaceful routine experiencing a revolution.

Elsewhere during the opening installment of a series driven less by plot and more by what the under-30s might call “atmosphere”, viewers encounter Hungry Paul’s dad (the ever-wonderful Lorcan Cranitch), a worn-out individual who secretly watches, saves and reviews television game programs to impress his adoring wife through his fact recall.

Leading the audience throughout this gentle kindness there is a voiceover who closely resembles – and actually is – the Hollywood icon. Indeed, the star. If you are thinking, “certainly the use of a big-name celebrity contradicts the series’ unshowy MO and initially serves only as a distraction?” you're right. Still, Roberts does a good job, and phrases such as “Leonard’s problem is the missing an expression of discovery” help ensure that first reservations yield if not quite to appreciation, then certainly understanding.

But that’s enough grumbling for now. The series' spirit is well-intentioned: which is “resting on a bench next to the Detectorists, showing its preferred bird.” This is a show that moves gently in comfortable attire, sometimes gazing upward at the stars, at other times looking at its feet, quietly confident that no experience is on Earth as heartening as being with close companions.

Throw open the portals of your life, a little, and allow it entry.