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In a quiet area of Dublin, a man is standing on the pavement, wearing a tank top and sharing his feelings. “I feel myself getting quieter. Harder to see,” remarks the main character, looking up at the night sky. “Circumstances have evolved and at this point I feel like without a change, my life will proceed in this quiet, unremarkable life.” Paul, his only confidant, ponders the idea. “That's perfectly fine,” he answers, his robe flapping in the breeze. “Better than attempting to leave an impact only to wind up defacing it.”

For anyone tired by the bluster and constant stimulation of current streaming offerings, the show comes as a cozy wrap with a hot drink of a sweet cordial.

In line with its quiet characters, this comedy – a six-episode show written by Richie Conroy and Mark Hodkinson, inspired by the novelist’s understated book – looks disapprovingly on contemporary society; peering disapprovingly through its prematurely middle-aged glasses at anything in the way of loud sounds, sudden movements or – perish the thought – excessive aspiration. The program on the contrary, a tribute to quiet people; a gentle tribute to people satisfied to wander out of the spotlight. However. He (another uniquely quirky portrayal by the actor) feels restless. He feels a creeping “desire to unlock the openings within my world … just a bit.” The loss of his mother has yanked the floor from under his slippers and the 32-year-old, an anonymous author, now realizes doubting the paths that directed him to his current situation (unattached; sporting facial hair; creating multiple kids' reference books for an employer who concludes correspondence saying “see you later”).

And so Leonard launches an exploration for personal satisfaction, with the slightly bolder friend Paul (the performer) functioning as his confidante, mentor and co-conspirator in a weekly board games evening which acts as debate (“Does the pool feel warm because kids pee in it, or do kids pee in it because it’s warm?”) and safe space.

(What's the origin of "Hungry" Paul? No idea. The origin of the moniker appears lost in history. Maybe the postal worker on one occasion consumed some food unusually quickly, or reacted to a tense moment by hastily opening four scotch eggs using his teeth).

Entering Leonard's quiet life comes a vibrant character (the performer), a new lively colleague who cheerily offers to eliminate his terrible supervisor (Paul Reid) in a workplace safety exercise. The rushing noise audible signals Leonard's peaceful routine experiencing a revolution.

In another part during the opening installment of a series driven less by plot and centered around what younger viewers might call “atmosphere”, we are introduced to Paul's father (the ever-wonderful Lorcan Cranitch), a tired character who covertly observes, tapes and rewatches television game programs to dazzle his devoted partner using his trivia skills.

Leading the audience throughout this subtle warmth we hear a narrator that sounds very much like – and, indeed, very much is – the Hollywood icon. Indeed, the celebrity. In case you're considering, “certainly the inclusion of a big-name celebrity is at odds with the show's modest approach and at first acts merely as a distraction?” you would be correct. However, Roberts acquits herself well, and phrases such as “The issue with Leonard is that he lacks a look of sudden insight” help ensure that initial doubts yield though not complete approval, then certainly understanding.

Enough complaining at this time. Leonard and Hungry Paul’s heart is well-intentioned: that place is “sitting on a park bench next to the Detectorists, showing the duck it loves.” It’s a series that ambles along wearing its simple clothes, sometimes gazing upward at the stars, at other times looking at its feet, quietly confident that there is nothing in the world as uplifting as spending time in the company of good friends.

Open the doors and windows of your life, just a bit, and let it in.