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In a calm neighborhood of the Irish capital, a person can be found in his driveway, sporting a vest and sharing his thoughts. “I feel myself getting quieter. More invisible,” remarks Leonard, looking into the darkness. “One thing’s led to another and currently I feel like unless I take action, I’ll just carry on in this minor, harmless existence.” Hungry Paul, his only and only friend, ponders these words. “There's no harm in that,” he replies, his bathrobe moving with the wind. “Preferable to trying to make a mark and ending up damaging things.”

For those exhausted by the noise and rat-tat-tat of today’s TV terrain, Leonard and Hungry Paul comes as a foil blanket and a comforting beverage of a sweet cordial.

Like its harmless protagonists, the series – a six-episode program developed by Richie Conroy and Mark Hodkinson, based on the novelist’s subtle story – looks disapprovingly toward today's world; gazing skeptically over its eyewear at anything that involves disturbances, quick actions or – heaven forfend – an abundance of ambition. The series is, instead, a celebration of shyness; a subtle homage for those happy to amble along out of the spotlight. But. He (one more distinctly original performance by the actor) is unsettled. He senses a creeping “urge to throw open the doors and windows of my life … slightly.” The loss of his parent has yanked the floor out from under him and this young man, a writer for others, now realizes doubting the decisions which led him to his current situation (alone; sporting facial hair; working on a range of kids' reference books for an employer who ends correspondence with the phrase “see you later”).

And so Leonard launches an exploration for personal satisfaction, with the slightly bolder Hungry Paul (the performer) serving as his close companion, guide and ally during their regular game night which acts as symposium (“Does the pool feel warm because kids pee in it, or do kids pee in it as it's heated?”) and safe space.

(Why “Hungry” Paul? It's unclear. The source of this name seems forgotten in history. It could be that he previously devoured some food very fast, or reacted to a socially fraught incident by hastily opening four scotch eggs by biting into them).

Entering Leonard's quiet life bursts a vibrant character (Jamie-Lee O’Donnell), a recent energetic co-worker who lightheartedly proposes to kill Leonard’s appalling boss (the character) in a workplace safety exercise. The rushing noise audible signals Leonard's peaceful routine experiencing a revolution.

In another part during the opening installment of a series driven less by plot and centered around what younger viewers could describe as “atmosphere”, we are introduced to the older generation (the consistently great the performer), a worn-out individual who secretly watches, records then replays daytime quiz shows to dazzle his loving spouse using his trivia skills.

Guiding viewers throughout this gentle kindness there is a voiceover who closely resembles – and actually is – the Hollywood icon. Truly, Julia Roberts. If you are thinking, “surely the use of a major Hollywood star contradicts the series’ unshowy MO and initially serves only as a diversion?” that's accurate. Still, Roberts does a good job, and dialogue like “Leonard's challenge is the missing an expression of discovery” assist in making sure that initial doubts give way if not full admiration, then certainly understanding.

Enough complaining at this time. The show's core is well-intentioned: which is “resting on a bench next to the Detectorists, pointing out the duck it loves.” The program that ambles along wearing its simple clothes, occasionally looking up into space, at other times looking toward the ground, serenely certain that there is nothing on Earth as uplifting as spending time alongside good friends.

Open the doors and windows within your world, a little, and allow it entry.