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In a quiet neighborhood of the Irish capital, a person is standing outside his home, sporting a tank top and sharing his feelings. “It seems like I'm becoming more silent. More invisible,” says the protagonist, looking up at the night sky. “Events have unfolded and now I feel like unless I take action, my life will proceed in this minor, harmless existence.” Paul, his only and only friend, ponders this statement. “There's no harm in that,” he replies, his robe swaying with the wind. “Superior to trying to make a mark only to wind up defacing it.”

For viewers weary by the chaos and rat-tat-tat of current streaming offerings, Leonard and Hungry Paul steps in as a cozy wrap and warming mug of Ribena.

In line with its harmless protagonists, this comedy – a six-part show written by Richie Conroy and Mark Hodkinson, inspired by Rónán Hession’s understated story – looks disapprovingly on contemporary society; looking disapprovingly over its eyewear on everything in the way of unnecessary noise, abrupt changes or – goodness forbid – an abundance of ambition. The series is, instead, a celebration of shyness; a quiet celebration for those satisfied to wander below the parapet. But. The character (a further uniquely quirky turn from Alex Lawther) feels restless. He senses a creeping “desire to unlock the entryways of my life … a little.” The passing of his parent has whisked the rug away from his feet and this young man, a ghost writer, now realizes questioning the paths which led him to his current situation (alone; defensively moustached; creating a range of educational volumes for a man who concludes emails with the phrase “goodbye for now”).

And so Leonard begins on a journey for personal satisfaction, accompanied by the somewhat braver friend Paul (Laurie Kynaston) acting as his close companion, mentor and ally in a recurring board games evening that serves both as symposium (“Is the pool warm due to children urinating, or is it that kids pee since it's warm?”) and refuge.

(Why “Hungry” Paul? The reason is unknown. The origin of the nickname is shrouded to the mists of time. Perhaps Paul on one occasion consumed some food very fast, or answered to a tense moment by nervously peeling several snacks with his teeth).

Entering Leonard's quiet life cartwheels a new colleague (the performer), a recent spring-loaded colleague who lightheartedly proposes to get rid of his terrible supervisor (Paul Reid) during the office fire drill. The rushing noise you can hear is Leonard’s gentle world undergoing a shake-up.

In other scenes during the opening installment of this program focused less on story and centered around what a modern audience may refer to as “atmosphere”, we meet the older generation (the ever-wonderful Lorcan Cranitch), a battered sofa of a man who covertly observes, records then replays daytime quiz shows to impress his devoted partner through his fact recall.

Guiding us through all this minor-key niceness is a narrator that is unmistakably – and actually is – the famous actress. Truly, the celebrity. Should you wonder, “certainly the use of such a famous actor contradicts the program's low-key style and starts off as just a distraction?” you would be correct. Nevertheless, Roberts acquits herself well, and phrases such as “Leonard's challenge is that he lacks a ‘eureka’ face” help ensure that early misgivings give way if not full admiration, then certainly understanding.

No more criticism for now. The show's core is well-intentioned: which is “located on a seat alongside similar shows, showing the duck it loves.” This is a show that ambles along in comfortable attire, occasionally looking up at the stars, occasionally down toward the ground, quietly confident that nothing is in the world as heartening as passing time with dear pals.

Throw open the portals within your world, just a bit, and allow it entry.