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In a quiet suburb of the Irish capital, a person stands outside his home, dressed in a sleeveless jumper and voicing his concerns. “I notice my voice is fading. More invisible,” states Leonard, staring into the darkness. “One thing’s led to another and at this point I feel like unless I take action, my life will proceed in this minor, harmless existence.” His friend Paul, Leonard’s best companion, ponders these words. “There's no harm in that,” he replies, his robe swaying gently. “Preferable to striving for recognition and causing harm instead.”

For those exhausted by the chaos and constant stimulation of modern television terrain, Leonard and Hungry Paul arrives as a foil blanket and warming mug of Ribena.

Similar to its harmless protagonists, the series – a six-episode program created by the writing duo, adapted from the novelist’s understated book – casts a critical eye toward today's world; gazing skeptically over its prematurely middle-aged glasses toward anything that involves disturbances, quick actions or – perish the thought – an abundance of ambition. This show on the contrary, a tribute to quiet people; a gentle tribute for those satisfied to amble along away from attention. But. He (another distinctly original performance from Alex Lawther) is uneasy. He notices a growing “need to open the openings of my life … slightly.” The loss of his parent has yanked the floor out from under him and the 32-year-old, a ghost writer, now feels reconsidering the paths that have brought him to where he is (alone; sporting facial hair; creating several educational volumes for a boss who concludes emails saying “see you later”).

Therefore Leonard launches an exploration for emotional fulfilment, alongside his more outgoing Paul (Laurie Kynaston) serving as his close companion, guide and ally in a weekly gaming session functioning as both discussion (“Is the water heated because kids pee in it, or is it that kids pee as it's heated?”) and sanctuary.

(Why “Hungry” Paul? No idea. The beginning of the moniker appears lost in mystery. Maybe Paul on one occasion consumed a snack very fast, or answered to a tense moment by hastily opening four scotch eggs with his teeth).

Into Leonard’s gentle world cartwheels Shelley (the actress), a new lively associate who lightheartedly proposes to kill his terrible supervisor (Paul Reid) in a workplace safety exercise. The rushing noise audible signals Leonard's peaceful routine being turned upside down.

Elsewhere in the first episode of this program focused less on story and more by what the under-30s could describe as “atmosphere”, viewers encounter Paul's father (the ever-wonderful Lorcan Cranitch), a battered sofa of a man who secretly watches, saves and reviews daytime quiz shows to amaze his adoring wife with his general knowledge.

Leading viewers through all this minor-key niceness we hear a narrator that sounds very much like – and actually is – the famous actress. Yes, the star. In case you're considering, “surely the presence of a big-name celebrity is at odds with the program's low-key style and at first acts merely as a diversion?” you would be correct. Nevertheless, Roberts does a good job, and lines such as “Leonard’s problem is that he lacks a ‘eureka’ face” help ensure that first reservations yield if not quite to appreciation, then certainly understanding.

Enough complaining currently. The series' spirit is well-intentioned: that place is “resting on a bench in the company of gentle comedies, pointing out its preferred bird.” The program that moves gently in comfortable attire, at times staring at the stars, occasionally down at its slippers, quietly confident that no experience is on Earth as cheering as being in the company of close companions.

Throw open the portals of your life, a little, and let it in.