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In a calm neighborhood of the city, a person can be found in his driveway, sporting a sleeveless jumper and voicing his thoughts. “I feel my voice is fading. More invisible,” states the protagonist, gazing into the darkness. “One thing’s led to another and now I feel like unless I take action, I’ll just carry on in this simple, peaceful routine.” Paul, his closest companion, reflects on the idea. “That's perfectly fine,” he answers, his robe moving gently. “Preferable to trying to make a mark only to wind up defacing it.”

For those weary by the chaos and rat-tat-tat of today’s TV offerings, the show comes as a cozy wrap with a hot drink of Ribena.

In line with its quiet characters, the series – a six-part program written by Richie Conroy and Mark Hodkinson, adapted from Rónán Hession’s quiet story – casts a critical eye on contemporary society; gazing disapprovingly through its prematurely middle-aged glasses toward anything that involves disturbances, sudden movements or – goodness forbid – an abundance of ambition. This show on the contrary, a tribute to quiet people; a subtle homage of those satisfied to pootle around away from attention. However. The character (one more uniquely quirky turn from Alex Lawther) feels restless. He senses a creeping “need to open the doors and windows in my existence … slightly.” The loss of his parent has yanked the floor from under his slippers and this young man, a ghost writer, now realizes questioning the choices which led him to where he is (alone; with a protective mustache; working on several educational volumes for a boss who signs off emails using the words “goodbye for now”).

Therefore Leonard starts himself on a quest for personal satisfaction, with the slightly bolder friend Paul (the actor) acting as his trusted friend, life coach and co-conspirator in a weekly game night functioning as both symposium (“Is the pool warm due to children urinating, or do kids pee in it as it's heated?”) and safe space.

(How did Paul get his nickname? The reason is unknown. The beginning of the nickname is shrouded in history. Perhaps the postal worker on one occasion consumed a snack very fast, or responded to a tense moment by nervously peeling some food items using his teeth).

Arriving in Leonard's calm existence comes Shelley (the performer), a recent lively associate who lightheartedly proposes to eliminate his terrible supervisor (the character) in a workplace safety exercise. The swift movement audible represents Leonard's calm life experiencing a revolution.

In another part during the opening installment of the comedy not heavily plotted and more by what younger viewers might call “mood”, we are introduced to the older generation (the consistently great Lorcan Cranitch), a worn-out individual who covertly observes, saves and reviews trivia competitions to impress his loving spouse with his general knowledge.

Shepherding us amidst this gentle kindness we hear a narrator that sounds very much like – and, indeed, very much is – the Hollywood icon. Yes, Julia Roberts. In case you're considering, “certainly the inclusion of a big-name celebrity is at odds with the program's low-key style and initially serves only as a distraction?” that's accurate. Still, Roberts does a good job, and lines such as “The issue with Leonard is the missing a ‘eureka’ face” help ensure that early misgivings give way if not full admiration, then at least acceptance.

Enough complaining currently. Leonard and Hungry Paul’s heart is well-intentioned: which is “located on a seat next to the Detectorists, showing its preferred bird.” The program that ambles along in comfortable attire, at times staring at the stars, occasionally down at its slippers, quietly confident that there is nothing on Earth as heartening as spending time in the company of dear pals.

Open the doors and windows in your existence, a little, and let it in.