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In a peaceful area of the Irish capital, a person is standing in his driveway, wearing a sleeveless jumper and expressing his feelings. “I feel my voice is fading. More invisible,” remarks the main character, looking toward the stars. “One thing’s led to another and at this point I believe if I don’t do something, my life will proceed in this minor, harmless existence.” His friend Paul, his only confidant, reflects on this statement. “There's no harm in that,” he replies, his bathrobe swaying gently. “Better than striving for recognition and ending up damaging things.”

For anyone tired by the bluster and constant stimulation of modern television landscape, the show arrives similar to a foil blanket with a hot drink of Ribena.

In line with its quiet characters, this comedy – a six-part show developed by Richie Conroy and Mark Hodkinson, inspired by the author’s understated story – looks disapprovingly on contemporary society; looking critically through its eyewear on everything related to disturbances, abrupt changes or – perish the thought – an abundance of ambition. The series is, instead, an ode to introversion; a subtle homage of those content to wander out of the spotlight. However. He (one more distinctly original portrayal from Alex Lawther) is unsettled. He senses an increasing “urge to throw open the doors and windows in my existence … a little.” The passing of his parent has yanked the floor away from his feet and this young man, an anonymous author, now realizes reconsidering the decisions that have brought him to this point (single; with a protective mustache; creating several kids' reference books for a man who signs off emails saying “see you later”).

Thus Leonard launches on a journey for emotional fulfilment, accompanied by the somewhat braver friend Paul (the actor) acting as his close companion, guide and ally during their regular gaming session which acts as discussion (“Is the water heated because kids pee in it, or do kids pee in it because it’s warm?”) and sanctuary.

(What's the origin of "Hungry" Paul? The reason is unknown. The source of the moniker seems forgotten to the mists of time. It could be that Paul once ate a sandwich unusually quickly, or reacted to an awkward situation by hastily opening some food items by biting into them).

Into Leonard’s gentle world comes a new colleague (the actress), a recent energetic colleague who happily suggests to get rid of his terrible supervisor (the character) in a workplace safety exercise. The rushing noise you can hear represents Leonard's calm life experiencing a revolution.

In another part in the initial show of a series driven less by plot and more by what younger viewers may refer to as “vibes”, we meet Hungry Paul’s dad (the ever-wonderful Lorcan Cranitch), a tired character who secretly watches, tapes and rewatches television game programs to amaze his adoring wife through his fact recall.

Guiding the audience amidst this minor-key niceness we hear a narrator who closely resembles – and truly is – the Hollywood icon. Truly, Julia Roberts. If you are thinking, “surely the presence of such a famous actor is at odds with the show's modest approach and starts off as just a diversion?” you're right. Still, Roberts does a good job, and phrases for example “The issue with Leonard is his absence of a look of sudden insight” contribute to ensuring that early misgivings fade if not full admiration, then at least acceptance.

Enough complaining currently. Leonard and Hungry Paul’s heart is in the right place: the right place being “located on a seat in the company of gentle comedies, pointing out its favourite duck.” This is a show that strolls leisurely in its sleeveless jumper, sometimes gazing upward into space, occasionally down at its feet, serenely certain that nothing is on Earth as uplifting as being with close companions.

Open the doors and windows within your world, slightly, and let it in.