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In a quiet neighborhood of Dublin, a man can be found on the pavement, dressed in a sleeveless jumper and voicing his feelings. “It seems like my voice is fading. Harder to see,” states the protagonist, staring toward the stars. “Circumstances have evolved and at this point I believe unless I take action, my life will proceed in this quiet, unremarkable life.” His friend Paul, Leonard’s best and only friend, ponders this statement. “Nothing wrong with that,” he answers, his bathrobe swaying in the breeze. “Preferable to attempting to leave an impact only to wind up defacing it.”

For anyone weary by the noise and rat-tat-tat of current streaming terrain, Leonard and Hungry Paul steps in similar to a cozy wrap and warming mug of blackcurrant juice.

Like its harmless protagonists, Leonard and Hungry Paul – a half-dozen installment show written by its authors, inspired by Rónán Hession’s quiet 2019 novel – casts a critical eye on contemporary society; looking skeptically through its prematurely middle-aged glasses on everything in the way of loud sounds, sudden movements or – perish the thought – an abundance of ambition. This show on the contrary, a tribute to quiet people; a subtle homage to people happy to wander away from attention. And yet. The character (another uniquely quirky turn by the actor) is uneasy. He feels a growing “desire to unlock the doors and windows in my existence … a little.” The recent death of his parent has yanked the floor from under his slippers and Leonard, a writer for others, now realizes reconsidering the choices that have brought him to where he is (single; sporting facial hair; writing multiple kids' reference books for a man who ends emails with the phrase “see you later”).

And so Leonard begins on a journey for personal satisfaction, with the slightly bolder Paul (the performer) acting as his confidante, mentor and ally in a weekly board games evening functioning as both discussion (“Is the water heated because kids pee in it, or is it that kids pee because it’s warm?”) and safe space.

(Why “Hungry” Paul? It's unclear. The source of the moniker seems forgotten in history. Maybe the postal worker once ate some food very fast, or answered to a socially fraught incident by nervously peeling four scotch eggs with his teeth).

Arriving in Leonard's calm existence cartwheels a new colleague (Jamie-Lee O’Donnell), a recent lively associate who happily suggests to kill the awful manager (the actor) during the office fire drill. The swift movement noticeable signals Leonard's peaceful routine being turned upside down.

Elsewhere during the opening installment of a series focused less on story and more by what a modern audience could describe as “atmosphere”, we are introduced to Paul's father (the ever-wonderful Lorcan Cranitch), a tired character who privately views, tapes and rewatches trivia competitions to dazzle his adoring wife with his general knowledge.

Shepherding us through all this minor-key niceness there is a voiceover that sounds very much like – and actually is – Julia Roberts. Truly, Julia Roberts. In case you're considering, “certainly the inclusion of a major Hollywood star contradicts the series’ unshowy MO and starts off as just a diversion?” you're right. However, Roberts does a good job, and phrases like “The issue with Leonard is his absence of a ‘eureka’ face” assist in making sure that initial doubts fade though not complete approval, then at minimum tolerance.

But that’s enough grumbling at this time. The show's core is well-intentioned: the right place being “resting on a bench next to the Detectorists, showing its favourite duck.” This is a show that strolls leisurely wearing its simple clothes, at times staring at the stars, sometimes downward at its feet, serenely certain that there is nothing on Earth as heartening as spending time in the company of close companions.

Throw open the portals of your life, just a bit, and allow it entry.