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In a quiet neighborhood of the Irish capital, a person stands in his driveway, dressed in a sleeveless jumper and voicing his feelings. “I feel myself getting quieter. Less noticeable,” says the protagonist, looking up at the night sky. “Events have unfolded and currently I believe if I don’t do something, my life will proceed in this quiet, unremarkable life.” Paul, his closest companion, ponders these words. “There's no harm in that,” he responds, his bathrobe flapping gently. “Preferable to striving for recognition and causing harm instead.”

For anyone exhausted by the chaos and rat-tat-tat of modern television landscape, this series steps in as a warm cover with a hot drink of a sweet cordial.

Like its gentle leads, the series – a six-episode show developed by Richie Conroy and Mark Hodkinson, adapted from Rónán Hession’s subtle story – looks disapprovingly at modern life; looking disapprovingly above its eyewear at anything that involves unnecessary noise, quick actions or – heaven forfend – excessive aspiration. This show is, instead, a tribute to quiet people; a gentle tribute of those happy to amble along below the parapet. But. Leonard (another sublimely idiosyncratic portrayal from Alex Lawther) is unsettled. He feels an increasing “urge to throw open the entryways within my world … just a bit.” The loss of his parent has pulled the carpet from under his slippers and the 32-year-old, an anonymous author, now finds himself doubting the decisions which led him to his current situation (alone; with a protective mustache; creating a range of kids' reference books for a man who concludes messages using the words “see you later”).

And so Leonard launches an exploration for emotional fulfilment, with the slightly bolder Paul (Laurie Kynaston) acting as his close companion, guide and partner in a recurring board games evening functioning as both discussion (“Is the water heated because kids pee in it, or do kids pee in it as it's heated?”) and safe space.

(How did Paul get his nickname? It's unclear. The source of this name seems forgotten in history. Maybe Paul previously devoured a sandwich in record time, or responded to a tense moment by hastily opening four scotch eggs using his teeth).

Arriving in Leonard's calm existence comes Shelley (Jamie-Lee O’Donnell), a new spring-loaded associate who happily suggests to get rid of the awful manager (Paul Reid) during the office fire drill. The swift movement noticeable signals Leonard's peaceful routine undergoing a shake-up.

In another part during the opening installment of a series focused less on story and more by what a modern audience might call “vibes”, we are introduced to the older generation (the consistently great the performer), a tired character who privately views, tapes and rewatches daytime quiz shows to impress his adoring wife with his general knowledge.

Shepherding the audience throughout this subtle warmth there is a voiceover that sounds very much like – and truly is – the famous actress. Indeed, the celebrity. In case you're considering, “certainly the presence of a major Hollywood star is at odds with the program's low-key style and initially serves only as a diversion?” you're right. Still, Roberts acquits herself well, and lines such as “Leonard’s problem is that he lacks an expression of discovery” assist in making sure that early misgivings yield if not quite to appreciation, then certainly understanding.

But that’s enough grumbling currently. Leonard and Hungry Paul’s heart is in the right place: the right place being “located on a seat next to the Detectorists, showing its favourite duck.” It’s a series that strolls leisurely wearing its simple clothes, at times staring toward the sky, occasionally down toward the ground, quietly confident that nothing is in life as heartening as being alongside good friends.

Unlock the entryways in your existence, a little, and allow it entry.