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In a quiet neighborhood of Dublin, an individual stands in his driveway, sporting a vest and voicing his thoughts. “It seems like myself getting quieter. Harder to see,” says the protagonist, staring up at the night sky. “One thing’s led to another and now I believe unless I take action, my life will proceed in this simple, peaceful routine.” Paul, his closest confidant, ponders the idea. “There's no harm in that,” he responds, his bathrobe moving with the wind. “Superior to striving for recognition only to wind up defacing it.”

For those weary by the noise and constant stimulation of modern television terrain, Leonard and Hungry Paul arrives as a cozy wrap with a hot drink of a sweet cordial.

Like its quiet characters, the series – a six-part program developed by the writing duo, adapted from Rónán Hession’s subtle book – casts a critical eye at modern life; peering skeptically through its eyewear toward anything related to disturbances, quick actions or – goodness forbid – an abundance of ambition. This show on the contrary, a tribute to quiet people; a subtle homage for those satisfied to amble along away from attention. However. The character (a further uniquely quirky turn from Alex Lawther) feels restless. He senses an increasing “desire to unlock the entryways of my life … slightly.” The recent death of his mother has whisked the rug away from his feet and this young man, an anonymous author, now finds himself reconsidering the decisions that directed him to this point (single; defensively moustached; working on several educational volumes for an employer who signs off correspondence using the words “goodbye for now”).

And so Leonard begins himself on a quest to find happiness, with the slightly bolder Hungry Paul (Laurie Kynaston) functioning as his trusted friend, life coach and ally during their regular game night that serves both as discussion (“Is the water heated because kids pee in it, or is it that kids pee because it’s warm?”) and refuge.

(How did Paul get his nickname? No idea. The origin of the moniker is shrouded to the mists of time. Maybe he previously devoured some food unusually quickly, or answered to an awkward situation by nervously peeling four scotch eggs by biting into them).

Arriving in Leonard's calm existence bursts a vibrant character (the performer), a fresh spring-loaded colleague who happily suggests to kill Leonard’s appalling boss (the character) at a fire practice. That whooshing sound audible is Leonard’s gentle world being turned upside down.

In another part in the initial show of a series not heavily plotted and more by what a modern audience may refer to as “atmosphere”, we are introduced to Paul's father (the ever-wonderful the performer), a worn-out individual who covertly observes, saves and reviews television game programs to dazzle his adoring wife with his general knowledge.

Guiding us throughout this minor-key niceness we hear a narrator that is unmistakably – and actually is – the Hollywood icon. Indeed, the celebrity. If you are thinking, “certainly the presence of a major Hollywood star contradicts the show's modest approach and initially serves only as a diversion?” that's accurate. However, the actress performs admirably, and phrases for example “Leonard's challenge is that he lacks a look of sudden insight” contribute to ensuring that first reservations fade if not full admiration, then certainly understanding.

Enough complaining at this time. The show's core is in the right place: which is “located on a seat alongside similar shows, pointing out the duck it loves.” The program that strolls leisurely in its sleeveless jumper, at times staring into space, sometimes downward toward the ground, serenely certain that nothing is on Earth as uplifting as being alongside close companions.

Open the doors and windows within your world, just a bit, and let it in.