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In a quiet suburb of the Irish capital, a person stands in his driveway, wearing a tank top and sharing his concerns. “I feel my voice is fading. Less noticeable,” states the main character, staring toward the stars. “Events have unfolded and now I feel like if I don’t do something, I will continue in this minor, harmless existence.” Hungry Paul, his closest companion, ponders this statement. “There's no harm in that,” he answers, his dressing gown moving with the wind. “Preferable to attempting to leave an impact and ending up damaging things.”

For those tired by the chaos and constant stimulation of modern television terrain, this series arrives like a cozy wrap with a hot drink of blackcurrant juice.

Like its quiet characters, Leonard and Hungry Paul – a six-part show created by Richie Conroy and Mark Hodkinson, adapted from Rónán Hession’s understated 2019 novel – takes a dim view toward today's world; looking critically through its eyewear on everything in the way of loud sounds, abrupt changes or – perish the thought – an abundance of ambition. The program on the contrary, an ode to introversion; a quiet celebration to people content to pootle around below the parapet. However. He (one more uniquely quirky turn from the star) is uneasy. He feels an increasing “desire to unlock the entryways of my life … a little.” The loss of his mother has pulled the carpet from under his slippers and this young man, a ghost writer, now realizes doubting the decisions that directed him to where he is (single; defensively moustached; creating a range of educational volumes for a man who ends messages with the phrase “goodbye for now”).

And so Leonard begins on a journey to find happiness, alongside his more outgoing friend Paul (the performer) functioning as his trusted friend, life coach and partner during their regular gaming session which acts as discussion (“Does the pool feel warm because kids pee in it, or is it that kids pee as it's heated?”) and safe space.

(How did Paul get his nickname? It's unclear. The source of the moniker is shrouded in history. Perhaps Paul once ate a sandwich in record time, or answered to an awkward situation by panic-peeling several snacks with his teeth).

Arriving in Leonard's calm existence comes a vibrant character (the performer), a recent spring-loaded associate who lightheartedly proposes to eliminate Leonard’s appalling boss (the character) during the office fire drill. The swift movement you can hear is Leonard’s gentle world undergoing a shake-up.

In another part during the opening installment of the comedy driven less by plot and more by what a modern audience might call “mood”, viewers encounter the older generation (the consistently great the performer), a worn-out individual who secretly watches, records then replays daytime quiz shows to dazzle his devoted partner with his general knowledge.

Shepherding viewers through all this minor-key niceness we hear a narrator who closely resembles – and actually is – the Hollywood icon. Truly, the star. If you are thinking, “certainly the inclusion of a big-name celebrity clashes with the series’ unshowy MO and initially serves only as a distraction?” that's accurate. Nevertheless, the actress performs admirably, and dialogue like “Leonard's challenge is his absence of a look of sudden insight” assist in making sure that initial doubts yield though not complete approval, then certainly understanding.

But that’s enough grumbling currently. The show's core is well-intentioned: which is “located on a seat alongside similar shows, pointing out its favourite duck.” This is a show that strolls leisurely in its sleeveless jumper, sometimes gazing upward toward the sky, at other times looking at its slippers, calmly assured that no experience is in the world as uplifting as being alongside good friends.

Throw open the portals in your existence, just a bit, and let it in.