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In a quiet suburb of the Irish capital, a person can be found on the pavement, dressed in a tank top and voicing his concerns. “It seems like myself getting quieter. Harder to see,” says the main character, staring toward the stars. “Events have unfolded and at this point it seems without a change, I will continue in this simple, peaceful routine.” Paul, his only confidant, reflects on these words. “There's no harm in that,” he answers, his robe flapping in the breeze. “Better than trying to make a mark and causing harm instead.”

For those weary by the noise and fast pace of modern television offerings, Leonard and Hungry Paul arrives as a warm cover with a hot drink of Ribena.

In line with its harmless protagonists, Leonard and Hungry Paul – a six-part program developed by Richie Conroy and Mark Hodkinson, based on the author’s subtle story – casts a critical eye at modern life; looking disapprovingly through its prematurely middle-aged glasses at anything that involves loud sounds, abrupt changes or – perish the thought – an abundance of ambition. The program is, instead, a tribute to quiet people; a gentle tribute for those satisfied to amble along away from attention. However. The character (one more uniquely quirky portrayal from the star) is uneasy. He notices a growing “desire to unlock the openings of my life … slightly.” The passing of his mother has pulled the carpet away from his feet and this young man, a ghost writer, now realizes reconsidering the paths that have brought him to this point (unattached; sporting facial hair; working on a range of children’s encyclopedias for a man who concludes emails with the phrase “ciao for now”).

Thus Leonard starts himself on a quest for personal satisfaction, alongside his more outgoing Hungry Paul (Laurie Kynaston) acting as his confidante, mentor and co-conspirator in a weekly game night which acts as debate (“Does the pool feel warm because kids pee in it, or do children urinate as it's heated?”) and refuge.

(Why “Hungry” Paul? It's unclear. The source of the nickname is shrouded in mystery. Maybe he on one occasion consumed some food very fast, or responded to a socially fraught incident by hastily opening several snacks by biting into them).

Into Leonard’s gentle world bursts a vibrant character (the actress), a recent spring-loaded associate who happily suggests to eliminate the awful manager (Paul Reid) in a workplace safety exercise. That whooshing sound you can hear represents Leonard's calm life undergoing a shake-up.

In another part in the initial show of a series driven less by plot and more by what younger viewers might call “atmosphere”, we meet the older generation (the consistently great the performer), a worn-out individual who secretly watches, tapes and rewatches television game programs to amaze his loving spouse through his fact recall.

Shepherding the audience throughout this subtle warmth we hear a narrator who closely resembles – and, indeed, very much is – the Hollywood icon. Truly, the star. If you are thinking, “undoubtedly the inclusion of a major Hollywood star contradicts the show's modest approach and at first acts merely as a diversion?” you're right. However, Roberts acquits herself well, and phrases for example “Leonard's challenge is the missing a ‘eureka’ face” assist in making sure that initial doubts yield though not complete approval, then at minimum tolerance.

Enough complaining at this time. The series' spirit is well-intentioned: that place is “sitting on a park bench in the company of gentle comedies, indicating its favourite duck.” This is a show that moves gently wearing its simple clothes, at times staring at the stars, sometimes downward at its slippers, calmly assured that nothing is on Earth as cheering as being alongside dear pals.

Unlock the entryways of your life, slightly, and let it in.