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In a quiet neighborhood of the Irish capital, a person stands outside his home, dressed in a sleeveless jumper and sharing his concerns. “I notice my voice is fading. Harder to see,” states the main character, gazing into the darkness. “Circumstances have evolved and now it seems without a change, I’ll just carry on in this quiet, unremarkable life.” Paul, his only confidant, considers this statement. “There's no harm in that,” he responds, his robe flapping with the wind. “Superior to trying to make a mark and causing harm instead.”

For anyone exhausted by the noise and constant stimulation of modern television landscape, this series comes similar to a warm cover with a hot drink of blackcurrant juice.

Similar to its quiet characters, Leonard and Hungry Paul – a six-episode show developed by its authors, inspired by the novelist’s subtle book – casts a critical eye on contemporary society; looking skeptically above its spectacles toward anything related to unnecessary noise, sudden movements or – goodness forbid – an abundance of ambition. This show rather, a tribute to quiet people; a quiet celebration to people happy to wander below the parapet. However. Leonard (another uniquely quirky turn from Alex Lawther) is unsettled. He notices an increasing “need to open the entryways within my world … a little.” The passing of his beloved mother has yanked the floor away from his feet and Leonard, an anonymous author, now feels questioning the paths which led him to where he is (unattached; sporting facial hair; working on a range of children’s encyclopedias for a man who ends messages with the phrase “goodbye for now”).

Therefore Leonard starts on a journey to find happiness, accompanied by the somewhat braver friend Paul (the actor) functioning as his trusted friend, guide and partner in a weekly game night which acts as symposium (“Is the pool warm due to children urinating, or do children urinate since it's warm?”) and refuge.

(Why “Hungry” Paul? No idea. The source of the moniker is shrouded in mystery. It could be that the postal worker once ate a sandwich in record time, or answered to an awkward situation by hastily opening several snacks with his teeth).

Arriving in Leonard's calm existence cartwheels a vibrant character (the performer), a recent energetic colleague who cheerily offers to kill his terrible supervisor (the character) in a workplace safety exercise. The rushing noise audible is Leonard’s gentle world undergoing a shake-up.

Elsewhere in the first episode of the comedy driven less by plot and more on what a modern audience could describe as “atmosphere”, we meet Paul's father (the brilliant Lorcan Cranitch), a tired character who privately views, records then replays trivia competitions to dazzle his adoring wife with his general knowledge.

Leading the audience amidst this subtle warmth we hear a narrator that is unmistakably – and truly is – the Hollywood icon. Truly, the star. If you are thinking, “undoubtedly the inclusion of a big-name celebrity is at odds with the show's modest approach and starts off as just a diversion?” you're right. Still, Roberts does a good job, and lines such as “Leonard's challenge is the missing a ‘eureka’ face” help ensure that early misgivings give way though not complete approval, then certainly understanding.

But that’s enough grumbling at this time. The show's core has good intentions: the right place being “resting on a bench next to the Detectorists, pointing out the duck it loves.” This is a show that strolls leisurely in its sleeveless jumper, at times staring toward the sky, occasionally down at its feet, serenely certain that no experience is in life as cheering as passing time with close companions.

Open the doors and windows within your world, a little, and welcome it inside.