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In a quiet area of Dublin, a person is standing in his driveway, dressed in a tank top and expressing his concerns. “It seems like I'm becoming more silent. More invisible,” says the main character, staring toward the stars. “One thing’s led to another and at this point I feel like unless I take action, I’ll just carry on in this minor, harmless existence.” His friend Paul, Leonard’s best and only friend, ponders these words. “There's no harm in that,” he answers, his dressing gown flapping gently. “Preferable to trying to make a mark and causing harm instead.”

For viewers tired by the bluster and rat-tat-tat of today’s TV offerings, Leonard and Hungry Paul comes like a cozy wrap and a comforting beverage of Ribena.

In line with its quiet characters, Leonard and Hungry Paul – a six-episode comedy written by Richie Conroy and Mark Hodkinson, adapted from the novelist’s quiet 2019 novel – takes a dim view at modern life; gazing disapprovingly over its prematurely middle-aged glasses at anything that involves disturbances, sudden movements or – heaven forfend – excessive aspiration. The program is, instead, a tribute to quiet people; a subtle homage of those satisfied to amble along away from attention. But. Leonard (a further sublimely idiosyncratic performance by the actor) feels restless. He feels a growing “urge to throw open the entryways within my world … just a bit.” The passing of his mother has whisked the rug out from under him and this young man, a writer for others, now feels doubting the decisions which led him to this point (unattached; sporting facial hair; writing several children’s encyclopedias for a man who concludes emails saying “ciao for now”).

Thus Leonard starts an exploration for emotional fulfilment, with the slightly bolder friend Paul (Laurie Kynaston) acting as his trusted friend, life coach and partner in a recurring board games evening which acts as symposium (“Is the pool warm because kids pee in it, or is it that kids pee as it's heated?”) and refuge.

(Why “Hungry” Paul? It's unclear. The origin of this name is shrouded in history. It could be that the postal worker previously devoured some food unusually quickly, or responded to a socially fraught incident by panic-peeling four scotch eggs using his teeth).

Into Leonard’s gentle world comes a vibrant character (the actress), a fresh lively associate who cheerily offers to kill Leonard’s appalling boss (Paul Reid) in a workplace safety exercise. That whooshing sound you can hear signals Leonard's peaceful routine undergoing a shake-up.

In another part in the initial show of a series driven less by plot and more on what younger viewers may refer to as “mood”, we are introduced to Paul's father (the ever-wonderful the actor), a battered sofa of a man who privately views, tapes and rewatches television game programs to amaze his loving spouse with his general knowledge.

Leading the audience amidst this gentle kindness we hear a narrator who closely resembles – and truly is – the Hollywood icon. Indeed, the celebrity. In case you're considering, “undoubtedly the use of a big-name celebrity contradicts the program's low-key style and at first acts merely as a distraction?” you're right. However, Roberts does a good job, and lines such as “Leonard's challenge is his absence of a look of sudden insight” assist in making sure that first reservations fade if not quite to appreciation, then at minimum tolerance.

But that’s enough grumbling at this time. The show's core is well-intentioned: that place is “sitting on a park bench alongside similar shows, showing its favourite duck.” The program that ambles along wearing its simple clothes, at times staring into space, at other times looking toward the ground, quietly confident that there is nothing on Earth as cheering as being alongside close companions.

Unlock the entryways of your life, just a bit, and welcome it inside.