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In a peaceful suburb of the city, a person stands outside his home, wearing a sleeveless jumper and voicing his concerns. “I notice myself getting quieter. Harder to see,” says the main character, looking toward the stars. “Circumstances have evolved and currently I feel like without a change, I will continue in this minor, harmless existence.” Hungry Paul, his only and only friend, considers these words. “That's perfectly fine,” he answers, his dressing gown moving in the breeze. “Preferable to striving for recognition only to wind up defacing it.”

For viewers tired by the chaos and fast pace of modern television terrain, Leonard and Hungry Paul arrives as a cozy wrap and warming mug of Ribena.

Like its harmless protagonists, Leonard and Hungry Paul – a half-dozen installment program written by the writing duo, adapted from Rónán Hession’s subtle book – takes a dim view toward today's world; peering critically through its prematurely middle-aged glasses on everything in the way of disturbances, quick actions or – perish the thought – an abundance of ambition. The series rather, a celebration of shyness; a quiet celebration to people satisfied to amble along below the parapet. And yet. He (a further sublimely idiosyncratic turn from Alex Lawther) feels restless. He feels a creeping “desire to unlock the entryways in my existence … a little.” The loss of his beloved mother has yanked the floor away from his feet and this young man, a writer for others, now realizes reconsidering the decisions that have brought him to his current situation (unattached; sporting facial hair; creating several kids' reference books for an employer who signs off emails using the words “ciao for now”).

Thus Leonard begins an exploration for emotional fulfilment, accompanied by the somewhat braver Hungry Paul (the performer) functioning as his confidante, mentor and co-conspirator during their regular gaming session that serves both as discussion (“Is the pool warm due to children urinating, or do kids pee in it since it's warm?”) and safe space.

(How did Paul get his nickname? No idea. The origin of the nickname is shrouded in history. Perhaps Paul on one occasion consumed some food in record time, or reacted to a socially fraught incident by panic-peeling several snacks by biting into them).

Entering Leonard's quiet life cartwheels a vibrant character (Jamie-Lee O’Donnell), a recent spring-loaded associate who lightheartedly proposes to get rid of Leonard’s appalling boss (the character) during the office fire drill. That whooshing sound noticeable is Leonard’s gentle world undergoing a shake-up.

In other scenes during the opening installment of this program driven less by plot and more on what younger viewers might call “atmosphere”, viewers encounter Hungry Paul’s dad (the ever-wonderful the performer), a tired character who privately views, records then replays daytime quiz shows to dazzle his devoted partner with his general knowledge.

Shepherding us through all this minor-key niceness there is a voiceover that sounds very much like – and actually is – Julia Roberts. Yes, the celebrity. In case you're considering, “surely the use of a big-name celebrity contradicts the show's modest approach and at first acts merely as a distraction?” that's accurate. Still, the actress performs admirably, and phrases like “Leonard's challenge is the missing an expression of discovery” help ensure that early misgivings yield if not quite to appreciation, then certainly understanding.

But that’s enough grumbling for now. The show's core is in the right place: which is “sitting on a park bench next to the Detectorists, indicating the duck it loves.” It’s a series that moves gently in comfortable attire, sometimes gazing upward at the stars, sometimes downward toward the ground, quietly confident that nothing is on Earth as cheering as spending time in the company of close companions.

Unlock the entryways in your existence, a little, and let it in.