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In a peaceful area of the Irish capital, a man stands on the pavement, dressed in a tank top and sharing his feelings. “I notice my voice is fading. Less noticeable,” says the protagonist, gazing up at the night sky. “One thing’s led to another and now it seems unless I take action, I will continue in this minor, harmless existence.” Hungry Paul, his only and only friend, ponders these words. “That's perfectly fine,” he responds, his robe moving gently. “Better than attempting to leave an impact and ending up damaging things.”

For anyone weary by the noise and fast pace of current streaming landscape, Leonard and Hungry Paul comes like a foil blanket and warming mug of blackcurrant juice.

Similar to its gentle leads, this comedy – a six-part comedy developed by the writing duo, adapted from the author’s quiet book – casts a critical eye at modern life; looking critically through its prematurely middle-aged glasses on everything that involves unnecessary noise, sudden movements or – heaven forfend – excessive aspiration. The series is, instead, an ode to introversion; a subtle homage for those satisfied to wander below the parapet. And yet. He (another distinctly original turn from the star) is uneasy. He notices an increasing “desire to unlock the doors and windows in my existence … slightly.” The passing of his beloved mother has pulled the carpet out from under him and Leonard, a ghost writer, now feels questioning the decisions that have brought him to his current situation (alone; defensively moustached; writing several children’s encyclopedias for an employer who signs off emails saying “ciao for now”).

Thus Leonard starts on a journey to find happiness, accompanied by the somewhat braver Paul (Laurie Kynaston) acting as his close companion, mentor and ally in a recurring board games evening functioning as both discussion (“Is the pool warm because kids pee in it, or do children urinate since it's warm?”) and safe space.

(Why “Hungry” Paul? It's unclear. The source of the moniker seems forgotten to the mists of time. Maybe Paul on one occasion consumed a sandwich in record time, or answered to a tense moment by nervously peeling four scotch eggs using his teeth).

Entering Leonard's quiet life bursts Shelley (the actress), a recent lively co-worker who cheerily offers to eliminate Leonard’s appalling boss (the actor) in a workplace safety exercise. The swift movement noticeable is Leonard’s gentle world undergoing a shake-up.

Elsewhere in the first episode of the comedy not heavily plotted and more on what a modern audience could describe as “mood”, viewers encounter Paul's father (the consistently great the actor), a battered sofa of a man who privately views, records then replays daytime quiz shows to impress his adoring wife through his fact recall.

Guiding viewers amidst this subtle warmth is a narrator that sounds very much like – and, indeed, very much is – Julia Roberts. Yes, the celebrity. In case you're considering, “undoubtedly the use of a major Hollywood star contradicts the series’ unshowy MO and initially serves only as an interruption?” you would be correct. However, the actress performs admirably, and dialogue for example “Leonard's challenge is that he lacks a ‘eureka’ face” contribute to ensuring that initial doubts fade if not full admiration, then certainly understanding.

Enough complaining at this time. The series' spirit is in the right place: which is “resting on a bench next to the Detectorists, pointing out its favourite duck.” The program that ambles along in its sleeveless jumper, at times staring into space, at other times looking at its slippers, serenely certain that nothing is in life as uplifting as spending time alongside dear pals.

Open the doors and windows in your existence, just a bit, and welcome it inside.