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In a calm suburb of the city, an individual is standing on the pavement, sporting a vest and sharing his concerns. “I notice my voice is fading. Less noticeable,” states the protagonist, staring up at the night sky. “One thing’s led to another and at this point I feel like without a change, my life will proceed in this minor, harmless existence.” Hungry Paul, Leonard’s best and only friend, reflects on the idea. “There's no harm in that,” he answers, his bathrobe swaying in the breeze. “Preferable to attempting to leave an impact and causing harm instead.”

For viewers weary by the noise and constant stimulation of today’s TV offerings, Leonard and Hungry Paul comes like a warm cover and a comforting beverage of Ribena.

In line with its harmless protagonists, the series – a half-dozen installment program written by the writing duo, based on Rónán Hession’s understated story – casts a critical eye on contemporary society; gazing skeptically through its eyewear at anything related to unnecessary noise, abrupt changes or – heaven forfend – an abundance of ambition. The program is, instead, a tribute to quiet people; a quiet celebration for those content to pootle around away from attention. But. Leonard (one more uniquely quirky portrayal by the actor) feels restless. He senses a creeping “desire to unlock the doors and windows in my existence … a little.” The passing of his parent has pulled the carpet out from under him and this young man, a ghost writer, now realizes questioning the decisions that directed him to his current situation (alone; defensively moustached; working on several educational volumes for a man who signs off emails with the phrase “goodbye for now”).

And so Leonard starts himself on a quest to find happiness, with the slightly bolder Paul (Laurie Kynaston) acting as his close companion, life coach and ally in a weekly board games evening which acts as discussion (“Is the water heated due to children urinating, or do children urinate because it’s warm?”) and sanctuary.

(How did Paul get his nickname? It's unclear. The beginning of this name appears lost in mystery. It could be that Paul once ate some food in record time, or responded to an awkward situation by hastily opening four scotch eggs using his teeth).

Arriving in Leonard's calm existence bursts a new colleague (Jamie-Lee O’Donnell), a new lively co-worker who happily suggests to get rid of Leonard’s appalling boss (the actor) at a fire practice. The rushing noise noticeable signals Leonard's peaceful routine being turned upside down.

Elsewhere in the initial show of a series focused less on story and more on what a modern audience could describe as “atmosphere”, we meet the older generation (the brilliant the actor), a tired character who covertly observes, records then replays trivia competitions to impress his loving spouse with his general knowledge.

Guiding the audience through all this minor-key niceness is a narrator that sounds very much like – and, indeed, very much is – Julia Roberts. Yes, the celebrity. Should you wonder, “undoubtedly the use of such a famous actor is at odds with the series’ unshowy MO and starts off as just a distraction?” you're right. Still, Roberts does a good job, and phrases such as “Leonard’s problem is that he lacks an expression of discovery” assist in making sure that initial doubts fade though not complete approval, then at least acceptance.

No more criticism for now. The series' spirit is well-intentioned: the right place being “sitting on a park bench in the company of gentle comedies, showing its favourite duck.” The program that strolls leisurely wearing its simple clothes, occasionally looking up at the stars, occasionally down at its slippers, quietly confident that nothing is on Earth as cheering as spending time with dear pals.

Throw open the portals within your world, slightly, and allow it entry.