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In a peaceful area of Dublin, an individual can be found in his driveway, sporting a sleeveless jumper and sharing his thoughts. “It seems like my voice is fading. Less noticeable,” states Leonard, staring up at the night sky. “Events have unfolded and at this point I believe without a change, I will continue in this quiet, unremarkable life.” Hungry Paul, his closest companion, ponders this statement. “Nothing wrong with that,” he answers, his bathrobe flapping in the breeze. “Better than attempting to leave an impact and ending up damaging things.”

For anyone exhausted by the bluster and fast pace of today’s TV landscape, Leonard and Hungry Paul arrives similar to a warm cover and warming mug of Ribena.

Like its harmless protagonists, the series – a six-episode program developed by Richie Conroy and Mark Hodkinson, inspired by the author’s understated book – looks disapprovingly on contemporary society; gazing disapprovingly through its spectacles toward anything in the way of loud sounds, sudden movements or – perish the thought – too much drive. The program is, instead, a celebration of shyness; a gentle tribute of those content to wander below the parapet. And yet. He (a further uniquely quirky portrayal from Alex Lawther) is unsettled. He notices an increasing “urge to throw open the doors and windows in my existence … a little.” The passing of his beloved mother has yanked the floor from under his slippers and Leonard, a ghost writer, now finds himself doubting the choices that have brought him to his current situation (alone; defensively moustached; working on several educational volumes for an employer who concludes emails with the phrase “goodbye for now”).

And so Leonard begins on a journey for emotional fulfilment, accompanied by the somewhat braver Paul (the performer) functioning as his trusted friend, mentor and partner in a weekly gaming session that serves both as debate (“Does the pool feel warm due to children urinating, or is it that kids pee because it’s warm?”) and refuge.

(What's the origin of "Hungry" Paul? The reason is unknown. The source of the nickname is shrouded in mystery. Maybe he previously devoured some food in record time, or reacted to a socially fraught incident by panic-peeling four scotch eggs by biting into them).

Arriving in Leonard's calm existence cartwheels a vibrant character (Jamie-Lee O’Donnell), a new energetic associate who cheerily offers to kill his terrible supervisor (Paul Reid) during the office fire drill. That whooshing sound audible signals Leonard's peaceful routine being turned upside down.

In other scenes in the initial show of a series driven less by plot and centered around what younger viewers could describe as “atmosphere”, we are introduced to the older generation (the consistently great the actor), a tired character who privately views, records then replays daytime quiz shows to amaze his adoring wife through his fact recall.

Shepherding viewers throughout this gentle kindness we hear a narrator who closely resembles – and, indeed, very much is – the famous actress. Truly, the celebrity. In case you're considering, “undoubtedly the presence of a big-name celebrity is at odds with the series’ unshowy MO and initially serves only as a distraction?” you would be correct. Still, Roberts acquits herself well, and dialogue like “Leonard’s problem is his absence of a look of sudden insight” help ensure that first reservations give way if not quite to appreciation, then certainly understanding.

No more criticism for now. Leonard and Hungry Paul’s heart has good intentions: that place is “sitting on a park bench next to the Detectorists, pointing out the duck it loves.” It’s a series that ambles along wearing its simple clothes, at times staring at the stars, sometimes downward toward the ground, quietly confident that there is nothing in life as heartening as spending time alongside dear pals.

Open the doors and windows within your world, slightly, and let it in.