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In a quiet neighborhood of the Irish capital, a person is standing outside his home, wearing a vest and sharing his feelings. “I notice myself getting quieter. Harder to see,” says the main character, staring into the darkness. “One thing’s led to another and at this point it seems without a change, I’ll just carry on in this quiet, unremarkable life.” His friend Paul, his only companion, reflects on these words. “Nothing wrong with that,” he replies, his bathrobe swaying gently. “Preferable to trying to make a mark and ending up damaging things.”

For viewers tired by the bluster and fast pace of modern television offerings, this series arrives like a foil blanket with a hot drink of a sweet cordial.

Similar to its gentle leads, the series – a six-part show written by the writing duo, adapted from Rónán Hession’s understated book – takes a dim view at modern life; looking disapprovingly over its prematurely middle-aged glasses toward anything in the way of loud sounds, abrupt changes or – perish the thought – an abundance of ambition. The series is, instead, a tribute to quiet people; a gentle tribute of those satisfied to amble along away from attention. And yet. The character (another uniquely quirky performance from Alex Lawther) is unsettled. He senses a creeping “urge to throw open the openings in my existence … just a bit.” The recent death of his beloved mother has yanked the floor out from under him and the 32-year-old, an anonymous author, now finds himself questioning the choices that directed him to this point (unattached; sporting facial hair; writing several kids' reference books for an employer who ends correspondence with the phrase “see you later”).

And so Leonard begins on a journey to find happiness, accompanied by the somewhat braver friend Paul (the actor) functioning as his confidante, life coach and ally in a weekly board games evening that serves both as discussion (“Is the water heated because kids pee in it, or do children urinate as it's heated?”) and refuge.

(Why “Hungry” Paul? The reason is unknown. The origin of the moniker appears lost to the mists of time. It could be that the postal worker on one occasion consumed a sandwich in record time, or answered to a tense moment by nervously peeling four scotch eggs by biting into them).

Arriving in Leonard's calm existence comes a vibrant character (Jamie-Lee O’Donnell), a new lively co-worker who cheerily offers to kill the awful manager (Paul Reid) in a workplace safety exercise. The swift movement noticeable signals Leonard's peaceful routine experiencing a revolution.

In another part in the first episode of this program driven less by plot and more by what younger viewers may refer to as “vibes”, we meet Paul's father (the ever-wonderful the actor), a battered sofa of a man who privately views, saves and reviews trivia competitions to amaze his devoted partner through his fact recall.

Leading the audience throughout this minor-key niceness is a narrator that is unmistakably – and actually is – Julia Roberts. Truly, the star. Should you wonder, “surely the inclusion of a major Hollywood star clashes with the series’ unshowy MO and starts off as just a distraction?” you're right. However, Roberts does a good job, and lines such as “Leonard's challenge is the missing an expression of discovery” contribute to ensuring that first reservations give way though not complete approval, then at minimum tolerance.

No more criticism for now. The series' spirit is in the right place: that place is “located on a seat next to the Detectorists, indicating the duck it loves.” This is a show that ambles along in comfortable attire, at times staring into space, occasionally down toward the ground, serenely certain that nothing is in the world as uplifting as passing time alongside close companions.

Open the doors and windows within your world, slightly, and welcome it inside.