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In a peaceful neighborhood of Dublin, a man can be found on the pavement, wearing a vest and sharing his concerns. “It seems like I'm becoming more silent. Less noticeable,” says the protagonist, looking toward the stars. “Events have unfolded and at this point I believe if I don’t do something, I will continue in this minor, harmless existence.” His friend Paul, his only confidant, considers the idea. “There's no harm in that,” he responds, his robe swaying with the wind. “Preferable to attempting to leave an impact and ending up damaging things.”

For anyone exhausted by the noise and rat-tat-tat of today’s TV terrain, the show comes as a cozy wrap with a hot drink of Ribena.

In line with its gentle leads, Leonard and Hungry Paul – a six-episode show created by its authors, inspired by the novelist’s quiet 2019 novel – takes a dim view toward today's world; looking critically through its eyewear toward anything that involves loud sounds, quick actions or – goodness forbid – an abundance of ambition. The program is, instead, a celebration of shyness; a quiet celebration for those satisfied to pootle around below the parapet. However. He (a further sublimely idiosyncratic portrayal from the star) is unsettled. He notices a growing “desire to unlock the doors and windows in my existence … just a bit.” The passing of his mother has pulled the carpet away from his feet and Leonard, an anonymous author, now finds himself reconsidering the choices that have brought him to this point (single; with a protective mustache; creating a range of children’s encyclopedias for a man who signs off messages saying “ciao for now”).

Therefore Leonard starts himself on a quest for personal satisfaction, accompanied by the somewhat braver friend Paul (the performer) serving as his confidante, mentor and partner in a recurring game night which acts as debate (“Is the pool warm because kids pee in it, or is it that kids pee as it's heated?”) and refuge.

(Why “Hungry” Paul? It's unclear. The origin of this name is shrouded to the mists of time. It could be that Paul once ate a snack very fast, or answered to a socially fraught incident by panic-peeling some food items with his teeth).

Arriving in Leonard's calm existence bursts a new colleague (Jamie-Lee O’Donnell), a recent lively colleague who lightheartedly proposes to kill his terrible supervisor (Paul Reid) during the office fire drill. That whooshing sound noticeable represents Leonard's calm life being turned upside down.

In other scenes in the first episode of this program focused less on story and more on what a modern audience might call “mood”, we meet the older generation (the consistently great the performer), a battered sofa of a man who privately views, tapes and rewatches television game programs to amaze his adoring wife using his trivia skills.

Guiding us amidst this minor-key niceness we hear a narrator that is unmistakably – and truly is – the Hollywood icon. Truly, the star. Should you wonder, “certainly the inclusion of a major Hollywood star clashes with the series’ unshowy MO and at first acts merely as a distraction?” that's accurate. However, Roberts does a good job, and phrases like “Leonard’s problem is the missing a ‘eureka’ face” assist in making sure that first reservations yield if not full admiration, then at least acceptance.

But that’s enough grumbling for now. The series' spirit is in the right place: that place is “sitting on a park bench in the company of gentle comedies, indicating the duck it loves.” It’s a series that ambles along in its sleeveless jumper, sometimes gazing upward at the stars, occasionally down at its slippers, calmly assured that there is nothing in the world as cheering as spending time in the company of dear pals.

Unlock the entryways of your life, slightly, and welcome it inside.