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In a calm area of the Irish capital, an individual stands outside his home, dressed in a sleeveless jumper and voicing his thoughts. “I notice myself getting quieter. Less noticeable,” remarks Leonard, looking into the darkness. “Circumstances have evolved and at this point I feel like if I don’t do something, I will continue in this simple, peaceful routine.” Hungry Paul, his only companion, ponders these words. “There's no harm in that,” he responds, his robe moving gently. “Superior to attempting to leave an impact only to wind up defacing it.”

For viewers tired by the noise and constant stimulation of current streaming landscape, this series comes like a foil blanket and warming mug of Ribena.

In line with its gentle leads, this comedy – a six-part show written by the writing duo, based on the novelist’s quiet story – casts a critical eye toward today's world; gazing skeptically over its prematurely middle-aged glasses toward anything that involves loud sounds, abrupt changes or – perish the thought – excessive aspiration. The series rather, a tribute to quiet people; a quiet celebration to people satisfied to amble along out of the spotlight. However. Leonard (a further uniquely quirky performance from Alex Lawther) feels restless. He senses an increasing “need to open the openings of my life … a little.” The recent death of his beloved mother has whisked the rug away from his feet and the 32-year-old, a ghost writer, now finds himself doubting the choices which led him to his current situation (alone; with a protective mustache; writing a range of educational volumes for an employer who concludes messages with the phrase “see you later”).

Thus Leonard launches an exploration for emotional fulfilment, accompanied by the somewhat braver friend Paul (Laurie Kynaston) functioning as his confidante, life coach and partner in a weekly game night that serves both as debate (“Is the pool warm from kids relieving themselves, or do children urinate since it's warm?”) and sanctuary.

(How did Paul get his nickname? It's unclear. The origin of this name appears lost to the mists of time. Maybe Paul on one occasion consumed a sandwich unusually quickly, or answered to an awkward situation by nervously peeling several snacks by biting into them).

Entering Leonard's quiet life comes Shelley (the actress), a fresh lively co-worker who happily suggests to get rid of the awful manager (the character) during the office fire drill. The rushing noise you can hear is Leonard’s gentle world being turned upside down.

In other scenes during the opening installment of this program focused less on story and more by what a modern audience could describe as “atmosphere”, viewers encounter the older generation (the brilliant the actor), a battered sofa of a man who covertly observes, records then replays trivia competitions to impress his adoring wife with his general knowledge.

Shepherding the audience throughout this minor-key niceness we hear a narrator who closely resembles – and truly is – the Hollywood icon. Indeed, the celebrity. If you are thinking, “certainly the presence of a big-name celebrity contradicts the show's modest approach and initially serves only as a diversion?” you would be correct. However, the actress performs admirably, and phrases for example “Leonard’s problem is the missing an expression of discovery” help ensure that first reservations yield if not full admiration, then at minimum tolerance.

Enough complaining at this time. Leonard and Hungry Paul’s heart is well-intentioned: which is “sitting on a park bench in the company of gentle comedies, showing its favourite duck.” It’s a series that strolls leisurely in comfortable attire, at times staring into space, occasionally down at its slippers, serenely certain that nothing is on Earth as cheering as being alongside close companions.

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