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In a peaceful area of Dublin, a person is standing outside his home, sporting a sleeveless jumper and expressing his thoughts. “It seems like I'm becoming more silent. Less noticeable,” states Leonard, looking into the darkness. “One thing’s led to another and currently it seems without a change, I will continue in this quiet, unremarkable life.” Hungry Paul, Leonard’s best companion, reflects on this statement. “Nothing wrong with that,” he replies, his robe flapping in the breeze. “Better than attempting to leave an impact only to wind up defacing it.”

For anyone weary by the noise and constant stimulation of modern television landscape, Leonard and Hungry Paul steps in as a cozy wrap and warming mug of blackcurrant juice.

Like its harmless protagonists, Leonard and Hungry Paul – a six-part comedy written by Richie Conroy and Mark Hodkinson, inspired by the author’s understated story – casts a critical eye on contemporary society; gazing skeptically over its spectacles on everything in the way of loud sounds, abrupt changes or – heaven forfend – an abundance of ambition. The program is, instead, a tribute to quiet people; a quiet celebration for those happy to pootle around away from attention. And yet. The character (one more distinctly original portrayal from the star) is unsettled. He notices an increasing “urge to throw open the openings in my existence … slightly.” The passing of his beloved mother has yanked the floor from under his slippers and Leonard, a ghost writer, now feels questioning the paths that directed him to where he is (alone; sporting facial hair; creating a range of children’s encyclopedias for a boss who signs off correspondence with the phrase “ciao for now”).

Therefore Leonard starts an exploration for personal satisfaction, with the slightly bolder Hungry Paul (the actor) functioning as his close companion, guide and partner during their regular board games evening which acts as discussion (“Is the pool warm due to children urinating, or do kids pee in it as it's heated?”) and safe space.

(Why “Hungry” Paul? No idea. The origin of the nickname appears lost to the mists of time. Maybe Paul on one occasion consumed some food unusually quickly, or reacted to an awkward situation by nervously peeling four scotch eggs by biting into them).

Entering Leonard's quiet life cartwheels a vibrant character (Jamie-Lee O’Donnell), a fresh spring-loaded colleague who lightheartedly proposes to kill the awful manager (the actor) during the office fire drill. The swift movement you can hear is Leonard’s gentle world undergoing a shake-up.

In another part during the opening installment of a series not heavily plotted and centered around what the under-30s might call “vibes”, we are introduced to Paul's father (the brilliant Lorcan Cranitch), a battered sofa of a man who privately views, tapes and rewatches trivia competitions to dazzle his devoted partner with his general knowledge.

Shepherding viewers amidst this gentle kindness we hear a narrator that sounds very much like – and, indeed, very much is – the Hollywood icon. Yes, Julia Roberts. In case you're considering, “certainly the inclusion of a big-name celebrity is at odds with the series’ unshowy MO and initially serves only as an interruption?” you would be correct. Still, Roberts acquits herself well, and lines for example “Leonard's challenge is the missing a ‘eureka’ face” assist in making sure that first reservations give way if not quite to appreciation, then at least acceptance.

But that’s enough grumbling for now. The series' spirit is in the right place: the right place being “located on a seat alongside similar shows, showing its favourite duck.” This is a show that ambles along wearing its simple clothes, sometimes gazing upward at the stars, at other times looking at its feet, serenely certain that nothing is in life as heartening as being alongside good friends.

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