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In a peaceful suburb of the city, an individual is standing on the pavement, sporting a tank top and voicing his thoughts. “I notice my voice is fading. Harder to see,” states Leonard, gazing toward the stars. “Events have unfolded and currently I believe without a change, my life will proceed in this minor, harmless existence.” Hungry Paul, his only companion, reflects on this statement. “That's perfectly fine,” he answers, his bathrobe swaying with the wind. “Preferable to attempting to leave an impact and ending up damaging things.”

For those weary by the noise and fast pace of modern television offerings, the show steps in as a foil blanket and warming mug of Ribena.

Like its gentle leads, this comedy – a half-dozen installment program created by Richie Conroy and Mark Hodkinson, inspired by Rónán Hession’s understated story – looks disapprovingly toward today's world; gazing skeptically above its eyewear at anything related to unnecessary noise, abrupt changes or – heaven forfend – excessive aspiration. The series is, instead, a tribute to quiet people; a quiet celebration to people happy to pootle around away from attention. But. Leonard (one more sublimely idiosyncratic performance from the star) feels restless. He feels a growing “need to open the entryways of my life … just a bit.” The loss of his parent has pulled the carpet away from his feet and the 32-year-old, a ghost writer, now realizes doubting the paths which led him to this point (unattached; sporting facial hair; writing a range of educational volumes for an employer who concludes messages using the words “ciao for now”).

Thus Leonard starts an exploration for personal satisfaction, with the slightly bolder friend Paul (the performer) functioning as his close companion, mentor and ally in a weekly board games evening functioning as both debate (“Does the pool feel warm because kids pee in it, or is it that kids pee because it’s warm?”) and safe space.

(Why “Hungry” Paul? The reason is unknown. The source of the moniker seems forgotten in mystery. Maybe Paul previously devoured a sandwich unusually quickly, or responded to a socially fraught incident by nervously peeling four scotch eggs by biting into them).

Arriving in Leonard's calm existence cartwheels Shelley (the actress), a new spring-loaded colleague who happily suggests to eliminate Leonard’s appalling boss (Paul Reid) at a fire practice. The swift movement audible signals Leonard's peaceful routine undergoing a shake-up.

In another part in the initial show of a series not heavily plotted and more on what the under-30s may refer to as “vibes”, we are introduced to Paul's father (the brilliant the actor), a worn-out individual who privately views, tapes and rewatches daytime quiz shows to amaze his loving spouse through his fact recall.

Guiding viewers throughout this gentle kindness we hear a narrator who closely resembles – and truly is – the Hollywood icon. Indeed, the celebrity. Should you wonder, “undoubtedly the use of such a famous actor clashes with the series’ unshowy MO and at first acts merely as a distraction?” that's accurate. Nevertheless, the actress performs admirably, and dialogue such as “Leonard's challenge is his absence of a look of sudden insight” help ensure that early misgivings give way if not full admiration, then certainly understanding.

But that’s enough grumbling 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 the duck it loves.” The program that ambles along in its sleeveless jumper, at times staring into space, at other times looking at its slippers, serenely certain that there is nothing in the world as heartening as spending time with close companions.

Throw open the portals within your world, just a bit, and welcome it inside.