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In a peaceful neighborhood of Dublin, an individual can be found in his driveway, sporting a vest and sharing his thoughts. “I feel my voice is fading. More invisible,” says the protagonist, looking toward the stars. “One thing’s led to another and at this point it seems without a change, my life will proceed in this minor, harmless existence.” His friend Paul, his closest and only friend, ponders this statement. “There's no harm in that,” he replies, his dressing gown moving gently. “Superior to attempting to leave an impact and causing harm instead.”

For viewers weary by the noise and rat-tat-tat of today’s TV landscape, Leonard and Hungry Paul steps in like a foil blanket and warming mug of Ribena.

Like its quiet characters, Leonard and Hungry Paul – a six-part show developed by Richie Conroy and Mark Hodkinson, adapted from the author’s understated 2019 novel – looks disapprovingly toward today's world; gazing critically through its spectacles at anything related to unnecessary noise, sudden movements or – perish the thought – too much drive. The series on the contrary, an ode to introversion; a gentle tribute of those content to wander below the parapet. However. Leonard (one more sublimely idiosyncratic portrayal from the star) feels restless. He notices an increasing “urge to throw open the doors and windows of my life … slightly.” The recent death of his parent has yanked the floor out from under him and this young man, a writer for others, now realizes doubting the choices that directed him to his current situation (unattached; defensively moustached; working on several children’s encyclopedias for a boss who signs off messages with the phrase “ciao for now”).

Thus Leonard launches on a journey for emotional fulfilment, with the slightly bolder friend Paul (the performer) functioning as his confidante, mentor and partner in a weekly board games evening that serves both as debate (“Is the water heated due to children urinating, or is it that kids pee since it's warm?”) and sanctuary.

(Why “Hungry” Paul? The reason is unknown. The source of this name appears lost to the mists of time. It could be that the postal worker on one occasion consumed a sandwich unusually quickly, or reacted to a tense moment by hastily opening several snacks using his teeth).

Arriving in Leonard's calm existence bursts a new colleague (Jamie-Lee O’Donnell), a fresh spring-loaded associate who happily suggests to kill Leonard’s appalling boss (the actor) in a workplace safety exercise. The swift movement audible represents Leonard's calm life being turned upside down.

In another part in the initial show of the comedy not heavily plotted and more on what the under-30s may refer to as “mood”, viewers encounter Hungry Paul’s dad (the ever-wonderful Lorcan Cranitch), a tired character who privately views, tapes and rewatches television game programs to dazzle his loving spouse with his general knowledge.

Leading viewers throughout this minor-key niceness there is a voiceover that sounds very much like – and actually is – the Hollywood icon. Truly, the celebrity. If you are thinking, “surely the use of a big-name celebrity contradicts the show's modest approach and starts off as just a distraction?” that's accurate. Nevertheless, Roberts does a good job, and lines like “Leonard's challenge is his absence of an expression of discovery” assist in making sure that initial doubts give way if not full admiration, then certainly understanding.

Enough complaining for now. Leonard and Hungry Paul’s heart has good intentions: the right place being “located on a seat alongside similar shows, pointing out the duck it loves.” It’s a series that moves gently in comfortable attire, occasionally looking up at the stars, occasionally down at its slippers, quietly confident that nothing is in the world as heartening as passing time with good friends.

Throw open the portals of your life, slightly, and allow it entry.