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In a peaceful area of the Irish capital, a man stands in his driveway, sporting a vest and sharing his feelings. “I notice my voice is fading. Harder to see,” states Leonard, gazing into the darkness. “One thing’s led to another and currently I feel like without a change, I’ll just carry on in this quiet, unremarkable life.” His friend Paul, his closest companion, ponders the idea. “Nothing wrong with that,” he replies, his dressing gown swaying in the breeze. “Superior to attempting to leave an impact and ending up damaging things.”

For viewers tired by the bluster and rat-tat-tat of modern television offerings, Leonard and Hungry Paul steps in like a cozy wrap and a comforting beverage of a sweet cordial.

In line with its gentle leads, this comedy – a six-episode comedy created by Richie Conroy and Mark Hodkinson, adapted from the author’s understated 2019 novel – looks disapprovingly at modern life; gazing critically above its prematurely middle-aged glasses at anything that involves disturbances, sudden movements or – goodness forbid – an abundance of ambition. The program on the contrary, an ode to introversion; a quiet celebration for those content to amble along away from attention. But. Leonard (one more distinctly original portrayal by the actor) is uneasy. He senses a creeping “urge to throw open the openings in my existence … a little.” The loss of his beloved mother has whisked the rug away from his feet and this young man, an anonymous author, now feels doubting the decisions which led him to where he is (unattached; with a protective mustache; working on a range of kids' reference books for an employer who ends messages saying “ciao for now”).

Therefore Leonard launches on a journey to find happiness, with the slightly bolder Paul (the performer) serving as his confidante, life coach and partner during their regular board games evening that serves both as discussion (“Is the water heated due to children urinating, or do children urinate since it's warm?”) and refuge.

(Why “Hungry” Paul? No idea. The source of the nickname appears lost in mystery. Perhaps the postal worker on one occasion consumed a sandwich very fast, or answered to a tense moment by nervously peeling several snacks using his teeth).

Entering Leonard's quiet life comes a vibrant character (the performer), a new energetic associate who lightheartedly proposes to get rid of Leonard’s appalling boss (the character) during the office fire drill. The swift movement you can hear represents Leonard's calm life experiencing a revolution.

In another part in the initial show of this program focused less on story and more by what a modern audience could describe as “mood”, we are introduced to Hungry Paul’s dad (the ever-wonderful Lorcan Cranitch), a battered sofa of a man who privately views, tapes and rewatches television game programs to dazzle his adoring wife using his trivia skills.

Guiding us amidst this minor-key niceness is a narrator who closely resembles – and actually is – the famous actress. Indeed, Julia Roberts. If you are thinking, “undoubtedly the use of such a famous actor contradicts the series’ unshowy MO and at first acts merely as an interruption?” you would be correct. Nevertheless, Roberts acquits herself well, and dialogue for example “Leonard’s problem is his absence of a look of sudden insight” help ensure that early misgivings fade though not complete approval, then at least acceptance.

No more criticism at this time. The series' spirit is in the right place: which is “sitting on a park bench next to the Detectorists, showing its preferred bird.” It’s a series that ambles along wearing its simple clothes, sometimes gazing upward into space, at other times looking at its slippers, quietly confident that no experience is on Earth as heartening as passing time with dear pals.

Open the doors and windows of your life, a little, and allow it entry.