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In a quiet area of the Irish capital, an individual stands on the pavement, sporting a vest and expressing his thoughts. “I notice myself getting quieter. Less noticeable,” says the main character, gazing toward the stars. “One thing’s led to another and currently it seems without a change, I will continue in this quiet, unremarkable life.” Hungry Paul, his only and only friend, ponders the idea. “Nothing wrong with that,” he answers, his bathrobe flapping gently. “Preferable to trying to make a mark and causing harm instead.”

For viewers weary by the noise and rat-tat-tat of current streaming landscape, Leonard and Hungry Paul steps in like a warm cover and a comforting beverage of a sweet cordial.

In line with its harmless protagonists, Leonard and Hungry Paul – a six-part comedy developed by Richie Conroy and Mark Hodkinson, adapted from the novelist’s subtle 2019 novel – casts a critical eye on contemporary society; peering critically over its spectacles at anything related to loud sounds, sudden movements or – goodness forbid – too much drive. This show is, instead, a tribute to quiet people; a subtle homage for those satisfied to pootle around out of the spotlight. But. Leonard (a further uniquely quirky portrayal from the star) is uneasy. He feels a growing “desire to unlock the entryways of my life … slightly.” The passing of his parent has yanked the floor away from his feet and the 32-year-old, a writer for others, now feels reconsidering the choices that directed him to where he is (unattached; sporting facial hair; creating several children’s encyclopedias for an employer who signs off correspondence with the phrase “goodbye for now”).

Therefore Leonard launches on a journey to find happiness, alongside his more outgoing Paul (the performer) serving as his close companion, mentor and partner in a weekly game night functioning as both discussion (“Is the water heated from kids relieving themselves, or do children urinate since it's warm?”) and safe space.

(How did Paul get his nickname? The reason is unknown. The source of this name seems forgotten in history. Perhaps Paul once ate some food unusually quickly, or answered to a socially fraught incident by nervously peeling some food items by biting into them).

Into Leonard’s gentle world comes a new colleague (Jamie-Lee O’Donnell), a fresh lively associate who lightheartedly proposes to get rid of his terrible supervisor (the actor) at a fire practice. The rushing noise you can hear signals Leonard's peaceful routine undergoing a shake-up.

Elsewhere in the initial show of a series focused less on story and more on what the under-30s could describe as “atmosphere”, viewers encounter Hungry Paul’s dad (the ever-wonderful the actor), a battered sofa of a man who covertly observes, records then replays trivia competitions to dazzle his devoted partner through his fact recall.

Shepherding us amidst this minor-key niceness there is a voiceover that sounds very much like – and actually is – the Hollywood icon. Indeed, Julia Roberts. Should you wonder, “surely the inclusion of such a famous actor is at odds with the series’ unshowy MO and at first acts merely as a diversion?” that's accurate. Nevertheless, the actress performs admirably, and phrases for example “Leonard’s problem is his absence of a look of sudden insight” contribute to ensuring that early misgivings give way if not quite to appreciation, then at minimum tolerance.

No more criticism currently. The show's core is well-intentioned: which is “located on a seat in the company of gentle comedies, showing the duck it loves.” It’s a series that moves gently in comfortable attire, sometimes gazing upward into space, occasionally down toward the ground, calmly assured that there is nothing on Earth as uplifting as being alongside dear pals.

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