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In a calm neighborhood of Dublin, a man is standing in his driveway, wearing a tank top and sharing his feelings. “I notice myself getting quieter. Less noticeable,” says the main character, looking into the darkness. “Events have unfolded and currently it seems if I don’t do something, I’ll just carry on in this simple, peaceful routine.” Hungry Paul, his only and only friend, considers this statement. “Nothing wrong with that,” he replies, his bathrobe moving with the wind. “Better than trying to make a mark and causing harm instead.”

For anyone weary by the noise and rat-tat-tat of modern television terrain, this series comes like a warm cover and a comforting beverage of Ribena.

Like its quiet characters, this comedy – a six-part comedy written by Richie Conroy and Mark Hodkinson, based on the author’s understated story – casts a critical eye toward today's world; peering critically above its prematurely middle-aged glasses on everything in the way of unnecessary noise, abrupt changes or – heaven forfend – too much drive. This show on the contrary, a tribute to quiet people; a gentle tribute of those satisfied to wander away from attention. And yet. The character (one more sublimely idiosyncratic turn from Alex Lawther) feels restless. He feels a creeping “urge to throw open the doors and windows of my life … slightly.” The recent death of his mother has pulled the carpet out from under him and Leonard, an anonymous author, now feels doubting the decisions that directed him to this point (single; defensively moustached; working on several educational volumes for a boss who concludes emails with the phrase “goodbye for now”).

And so Leonard launches on a journey for emotional fulfilment, accompanied by the somewhat braver friend Paul (the performer) serving as his close companion, life coach and ally in a recurring game night which acts as debate (“Is the pool warm from kids relieving themselves, or do children urinate since it's warm?”) and sanctuary.

(What's the origin of "Hungry" Paul? It's unclear. The origin of the moniker seems forgotten to the mists of time. Maybe the postal worker once ate a sandwich in record time, or reacted to a socially fraught incident by panic-peeling four scotch eggs by biting into them).

Into Leonard’s gentle world comes Shelley (Jamie-Lee O’Donnell), a fresh lively associate who happily suggests to get rid of Leonard’s appalling boss (Paul Reid) during the office fire drill. That whooshing sound noticeable signals Leonard's peaceful routine being turned upside down.

In other scenes in the first episode of the comedy not heavily plotted and more on what younger viewers could describe as “vibes”, we are introduced to the older generation (the brilliant the performer), a tired character who secretly watches, records then replays television game programs to impress his loving spouse with his general knowledge.

Leading us amidst this minor-key niceness we hear a narrator that is unmistakably – and truly is – the famous actress. Truly, the celebrity. Should you wonder, “undoubtedly the presence of such a famous actor clashes with the series’ unshowy MO and initially serves only as a diversion?” you would be correct. Still, the actress performs admirably, and lines like “The issue with Leonard is the missing an expression of discovery” contribute to ensuring that first reservations give way though not complete approval, then at least acceptance.

Enough complaining for now. The show's core has good intentions: the right place being “resting on a bench next to the Detectorists, pointing out its favourite duck.” It’s a series that ambles along in its sleeveless jumper, occasionally looking up at the stars, sometimes downward at its feet, serenely certain that there is nothing in the world as heartening as passing time alongside close companions.

Throw open the portals in your existence, just a bit, and allow it entry.