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In a peaceful area of Dublin, a person is standing on the pavement, dressed in a tank top and voicing his thoughts. “I notice my voice is fading. Harder to see,” says the main character, looking into the darkness. “Circumstances have evolved and at this point I feel like unless I take action, I’ll just carry on in this quiet, unremarkable life.” Paul, his closest and only friend, considers the idea. “There's no harm in that,” he answers, his dressing gown moving in the breeze. “Better than trying to make a mark and ending up damaging things.”

For those weary by the chaos and rat-tat-tat of today’s TV landscape, this series arrives like a warm cover with a hot drink of a sweet cordial.

Like its harmless protagonists, the series – a six-part program created by the writing duo, based on the novelist’s understated story – casts a critical eye toward today's world; looking disapprovingly through its eyewear at anything related to disturbances, sudden movements or – goodness forbid – an abundance of ambition. This show is, instead, a celebration of shyness; a gentle tribute to people content to pootle around below the parapet. However. The character (one more distinctly original turn from Alex Lawther) is unsettled. He notices a creeping “urge to throw open the entryways of my life … a little.” The passing of his mother has whisked the rug from under his slippers and this young man, a writer for others, now realizes questioning the paths that have brought him to his current situation (unattached; defensively moustached; creating a range of children’s encyclopedias for an employer who ends messages using the words “goodbye for now”).

And so Leonard launches himself on a quest to find happiness, alongside his more outgoing Paul (Laurie Kynaston) serving as his close companion, mentor and partner during their regular board games evening which acts as debate (“Does the pool feel warm from kids relieving themselves, or do kids pee in it as it's heated?”) and safe space.

(Why “Hungry” Paul? The reason is unknown. The source of the moniker is shrouded to the mists of time. Perhaps the postal worker previously devoured some food in record time, or responded to a socially fraught incident by hastily opening some food items by biting into them).

Entering Leonard's quiet life comes a vibrant character (the performer), a fresh energetic colleague who cheerily offers to get rid of Leonard’s appalling boss (the actor) during the office fire drill. That whooshing sound noticeable is Leonard’s gentle world being turned upside down.

In another part in the initial show of this program not heavily plotted and centered around what a modern audience might call “mood”, viewers encounter Hungry Paul’s dad (the ever-wonderful Lorcan Cranitch), a battered sofa of a man who covertly observes, tapes and rewatches television game programs to amaze his loving spouse with his general knowledge.

Leading us through all this gentle kindness is a narrator that sounds very much like – and actually is – Julia Roberts. Indeed, the star. If you are thinking, “certainly the presence of a major Hollywood star is at odds with the show's modest approach and initially serves only as a distraction?” you would be correct. Nevertheless, Roberts acquits herself well, and lines like “Leonard's challenge is the missing a look of sudden insight” help ensure that first reservations give way though not complete approval, then at least acceptance.

But that’s enough grumbling at this time. The show's core is well-intentioned: which is “sitting on a park bench in the company of gentle comedies, pointing out its favourite duck.” It’s a series that ambles along in comfortable attire, sometimes gazing upward into space, at other times looking toward the ground, serenely certain that nothing is in the world as cheering as spending time alongside close companions.

Throw open the portals of your life, slightly, and welcome it inside.