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In a peaceful suburb of the Irish capital, a person is standing on the pavement, wearing a sleeveless jumper and sharing his thoughts. “It seems like I'm becoming more silent. Harder to see,” remarks the protagonist, gazing into the darkness. “One thing’s led to another and now I feel like if I don’t do something, I’ll just carry on in this quiet, unremarkable life.” His friend Paul, his only companion, considers this statement. “There's no harm in that,” he responds, his robe flapping with the wind. “Superior to striving for recognition only to wind up defacing it.”

For anyone exhausted by the bluster and rat-tat-tat of current streaming terrain, this series steps in like a warm cover with a hot drink of a sweet cordial.

Similar to its gentle leads, Leonard and Hungry Paul – a six-part comedy created by Richie Conroy and Mark Hodkinson, inspired by the novelist’s understated book – casts a critical eye toward today's world; gazing skeptically through its prematurely middle-aged glasses toward anything that involves disturbances, abrupt changes or – heaven forfend – excessive aspiration. This show on the contrary, a celebration of shyness; a gentle tribute of those content to pootle around out of the spotlight. And yet. He (a further distinctly original turn from Alex Lawther) is uneasy. He notices a growing “desire to unlock the doors and windows within my world … a little.” The loss of his mother has pulled the carpet away from his feet and the 32-year-old, an anonymous author, now realizes questioning the decisions that directed him to where he is (alone; defensively moustached; working on several educational volumes for a boss who ends correspondence saying “ciao for now”).

Therefore Leonard starts himself on a quest to find happiness, with the slightly bolder Paul (the performer) functioning as his close companion, life coach and co-conspirator in a recurring gaming session which acts as symposium (“Is the pool warm because kids pee in it, or do kids pee in it since it's warm?”) and sanctuary.

(What's the origin of "Hungry" Paul? No idea. The beginning of the nickname is shrouded to the mists of time. Maybe Paul once ate some food unusually quickly, or responded to an awkward situation by hastily opening some food items using his teeth).

Into Leonard’s gentle world cartwheels Shelley (the actress), a fresh spring-loaded co-worker who lightheartedly proposes to kill the awful manager (the actor) in a workplace safety exercise. The rushing noise you can hear signals Leonard's peaceful routine being turned upside down.

Elsewhere in the initial show of the comedy focused less on story and more by what a modern audience may refer to as “mood”, we are introduced to Hungry Paul’s dad (the ever-wonderful Lorcan Cranitch), a tired character who secretly watches, tapes and rewatches daytime quiz shows to amaze his loving spouse using his trivia skills.

Leading us through all this gentle kindness we hear a narrator that is unmistakably – and, indeed, very much is – the Hollywood icon. Truly, the celebrity. In case you're considering, “undoubtedly the use of a major Hollywood star contradicts the show's modest approach and at first acts merely as an interruption?” you're right. However, Roberts acquits herself well, and dialogue like “The issue with Leonard is his absence of a look of sudden insight” assist in making sure that first reservations fade if not quite to appreciation, then at least acceptance.

No more criticism at this time. Leonard and Hungry Paul’s heart is well-intentioned: the right place being “sitting on a park bench next to the Detectorists, pointing out its favourite duck.” The program that strolls leisurely in comfortable attire, at times staring at the stars, sometimes downward at its slippers, serenely certain that there is nothing on Earth as uplifting as spending time in the company of close companions.

Unlock the entryways of your life, slightly, and let it in.