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In a quiet suburb of the Irish capital, a man is standing on the pavement, sporting a vest and expressing his concerns. “I feel my voice is fading. Less noticeable,” remarks the main character, staring toward the stars. “Circumstances have evolved and at this point I feel like without a change, my life will proceed in this quiet, unremarkable life.” Paul, Leonard’s best and only friend, ponders the idea. “There's no harm in that,” he answers, his bathrobe moving with the wind. “Superior to trying to make a mark only to wind up defacing it.”

For those exhausted by the bluster and constant stimulation of modern television landscape, the show comes as a cozy wrap and warming mug of Ribena.

Like its quiet characters, Leonard and Hungry Paul – a half-dozen installment comedy written by its authors, based on the author’s subtle book – takes a dim view at modern life; gazing critically over its prematurely middle-aged glasses on everything related to disturbances, abrupt changes or – goodness forbid – an abundance of ambition. The program is, instead, a celebration of shyness; a quiet celebration of those satisfied to amble along away from attention. But. Leonard (a further sublimely idiosyncratic portrayal from the star) is unsettled. He senses a growing “need to open the doors and windows within my world … just a bit.” The loss of his parent has yanked the floor away from his feet and the 32-year-old, an anonymous author, now feels questioning the decisions that directed him to his current situation (single; with a protective mustache; creating a range of educational volumes for a man who ends messages with the phrase “see you later”).

Therefore Leonard begins an exploration to find happiness, accompanied by the somewhat braver friend Paul (Laurie Kynaston) acting as his confidante, life coach and partner during their regular board games evening that serves both as discussion (“Does the pool feel warm because kids pee in it, or is it that kids pee as it's heated?”) and refuge.

(How did Paul get his nickname? The reason is unknown. The origin of this name seems forgotten in history. It could be that Paul on one occasion consumed some food very fast, or responded to a socially fraught incident by panic-peeling four scotch eggs by biting into them).

Into Leonard’s gentle world bursts Shelley (Jamie-Lee O’Donnell), a new spring-loaded associate who happily suggests to get rid of his terrible supervisor (Paul Reid) at a fire practice. The swift movement audible signals Leonard's peaceful routine experiencing a revolution.

In other scenes in the initial show of a series focused less on story and centered around what younger viewers might call “atmosphere”, viewers encounter Hungry Paul’s dad (the brilliant the actor), a battered sofa of a man who privately views, saves and reviews daytime quiz shows to amaze his devoted partner with his general knowledge.

Shepherding viewers amidst this minor-key niceness is a narrator who closely resembles – and actually is – the famous actress. Yes, the star. In case you're considering, “undoubtedly the inclusion of a big-name celebrity clashes with the series’ unshowy MO and starts off as just an interruption?” you're right. Still, the actress performs admirably, and phrases such as “Leonard’s problem is the missing a look of sudden insight” contribute to ensuring that initial doubts give way though not complete approval, then at minimum tolerance.

No more criticism at this time. The series' spirit is well-intentioned: the right place being “located on a seat in the company of gentle comedies, showing the duck it loves.” This is a show that ambles along in its sleeveless jumper, at times staring at the stars, at other times looking at its feet, calmly assured that there is nothing on Earth as heartening as spending time in the company of dear pals.

Throw open the portals in your existence, slightly, and allow it entry.