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In a peaceful suburb of the Irish capital, an individual can be found outside his home, wearing a vest and expressing his concerns. “I notice I'm becoming more silent. More invisible,” remarks Leonard, looking toward the stars. “Events have unfolded and currently I feel like without a change, I will continue in this simple, peaceful routine.” Hungry Paul, his only and only friend, considers these words. “Nothing wrong with that,” he answers, his robe flapping gently. “Superior to striving for recognition and causing harm instead.”

For anyone weary by the bluster and rat-tat-tat of modern television terrain, this series arrives as a foil blanket and a comforting beverage of Ribena.

Similar to its gentle leads, Leonard and Hungry Paul – a half-dozen installment comedy created by its authors, based on the author’s subtle book – casts a critical eye at modern life; looking disapprovingly above its spectacles toward anything that involves loud sounds, abrupt changes or – goodness forbid – too much drive. This show on the contrary, a celebration of shyness; a gentle tribute to people happy to amble along below the parapet. However. Leonard (a further distinctly original portrayal from Alex Lawther) is uneasy. He senses an increasing “urge to throw open the entryways within my world … just a bit.” The passing of his parent has whisked the rug from under his slippers and Leonard, an anonymous author, now realizes questioning the decisions which led him to where he is (unattached; with a protective mustache; working on several kids' reference books for a man who concludes emails using the words “ciao for now”).

Therefore Leonard launches himself on a quest for personal satisfaction, with the slightly bolder Hungry Paul (the performer) serving as his confidante, guide and co-conspirator in a weekly gaming session functioning as both symposium (“Is the water heated because kids pee in it, or is it that kids pee since it's warm?”) and refuge.

(What's the origin of "Hungry" Paul? No idea. The source of the moniker seems forgotten in history. It could be that he previously devoured a sandwich very fast, or answered to a tense moment by panic-peeling several snacks using his teeth).

Entering Leonard's quiet life bursts a vibrant character (the performer), a new spring-loaded co-worker who lightheartedly proposes to kill the awful manager (the actor) during the office fire drill. That whooshing sound noticeable signals Leonard's peaceful routine undergoing a shake-up.

In other scenes in the initial show of the comedy focused less on story and more by what younger viewers could describe as “atmosphere”, viewers encounter Paul's father (the consistently great the performer), a worn-out individual who covertly observes, saves and reviews trivia competitions to amaze his loving spouse through his fact recall.

Leading the audience amidst this gentle kindness we hear a narrator that is unmistakably – and, indeed, very much is – Julia Roberts. Yes, Julia Roberts. In case you're considering, “undoubtedly the use of a major Hollywood star contradicts the series’ unshowy MO and initially serves only as a distraction?” you would be correct. Still, Roberts acquits herself well, and lines such as “Leonard's challenge is the missing a ‘eureka’ face” assist in making sure that initial doubts give way though not complete approval, then at minimum tolerance.

No more criticism currently. The show's core is in the right place: the right place being “sitting on a park bench alongside similar shows, indicating its favourite duck.” This is a show that ambles along wearing its simple clothes, sometimes gazing upward into space, occasionally down at its feet, calmly assured that there is nothing in the world as uplifting as spending time alongside good friends.

Open the doors and windows in your existence, just a bit, and allow it entry.