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In a quiet neighborhood of Dublin, a person stands on the pavement, sporting a sleeveless jumper and voicing his feelings. “It seems like myself getting quieter. More invisible,” says the main character, staring up at the night sky. “Circumstances have evolved and currently I believe if I don’t do something, I will continue in this minor, harmless existence.” Hungry Paul, his closest companion, ponders the idea. “Nothing wrong with that,” he responds, his robe swaying gently. “Preferable to attempting to leave an impact and causing harm instead.”

For viewers exhausted by the chaos and constant stimulation of current streaming terrain, Leonard and Hungry Paul arrives similar to a warm cover with a hot drink of a sweet cordial.

In line with its harmless protagonists, the series – a six-episode program written by Richie Conroy and Mark Hodkinson, inspired by Rónán Hession’s quiet book – looks disapprovingly on contemporary society; peering disapprovingly above its eyewear on everything that involves unnecessary noise, quick actions or – heaven forfend – an abundance of ambition. The series is, instead, an ode to introversion; a gentle tribute to people content to pootle around away from attention. However. The character (another uniquely quirky performance by the actor) feels restless. He senses an increasing “desire to unlock the doors and windows of my life … slightly.” The recent death of his mother has whisked the rug from under his slippers and Leonard, a ghost writer, now finds himself reconsidering the paths that have brought him to his current situation (single; with a protective mustache; writing a range of children’s encyclopedias for a man who concludes messages with the phrase “see you later”).

And so Leonard begins himself on a quest for personal satisfaction, with the slightly bolder Paul (Laurie Kynaston) acting as his trusted friend, guide and co-conspirator during their regular gaming session functioning as both symposium (“Is the water heated because kids pee in it, or is it that kids pee as it's heated?”) and safe space.

(Why “Hungry” Paul? It's unclear. The source of the moniker is shrouded to the mists of time. Perhaps Paul on one occasion consumed a snack very fast, or responded to a tense moment by nervously peeling four scotch eggs with his teeth).

Arriving in Leonard's calm existence comes Shelley (the performer), a new energetic colleague who lightheartedly proposes to kill the awful manager (the actor) at a fire practice. The swift movement audible signals Leonard's peaceful routine being turned upside down.

In another part during the opening installment of a series focused less on story and centered around what a modern audience may refer to as “mood”, we meet Paul's father (the brilliant the performer), a worn-out individual who privately views, 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, indeed, very much is – Julia Roberts. Truly, the star. If you are thinking, “certainly the use of a big-name celebrity contradicts the series’ unshowy MO and at first acts merely as a distraction?” you would be correct. Nevertheless, Roberts does a good job, and lines such as “The issue with Leonard is the missing a look of sudden insight” help ensure that first reservations give way if not quite to appreciation, then certainly understanding.

But that’s enough grumbling for now. Leonard and Hungry Paul’s heart is well-intentioned: which is “located on a seat next to the Detectorists, indicating the duck it loves.” It’s a series that strolls leisurely in its sleeveless jumper, occasionally looking up into space, sometimes downward toward the ground, calmly assured that there is nothing in the world as cheering as being in the company of close companions.

Open the doors and windows of your life, just a bit, and welcome it inside.