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In a quiet area of the Irish capital, an individual stands on the pavement, wearing a tank top and expressing his feelings. “I feel my voice is fading. Less noticeable,” remarks the protagonist, gazing toward the stars. “Circumstances have evolved and at this point I believe without a change, I’ll just carry on in this minor, harmless existence.” His friend Paul, his closest and only friend, ponders the idea. “There's no harm in that,” he responds, his bathrobe flapping gently. “Better than striving for recognition and ending up damaging things.”

For those exhausted by the noise and constant stimulation of today’s TV offerings, Leonard and Hungry Paul steps in as a foil blanket and warming mug of Ribena.

Similar to its quiet characters, the series – a half-dozen installment program written by its authors, adapted from the novelist’s quiet book – looks disapprovingly at modern life; gazing critically through its eyewear at anything related to disturbances, abrupt changes or – perish the thought – an abundance of ambition. The program rather, a celebration of shyness; a subtle homage for those content to amble along below the parapet. And yet. The character (a further sublimely idiosyncratic turn by the actor) is unsettled. He feels a creeping “desire to unlock the doors and windows within my world … a little.” The recent death of his beloved mother has yanked the floor out from under him and Leonard, an anonymous author, now feels doubting the decisions which led him to where he is (alone; sporting facial hair; writing several kids' reference books for an employer who ends messages using the words “goodbye for now”).

Therefore Leonard starts an exploration to find happiness, with the slightly bolder friend Paul (Laurie Kynaston) acting as his trusted friend, guide and ally in a recurring gaming session that serves both as discussion (“Is the pool warm from kids relieving themselves, or do kids pee in it as it's heated?”) and sanctuary.

(Why “Hungry” Paul? No idea. The origin of this name is shrouded to the mists of time. Perhaps the postal worker previously devoured a sandwich unusually quickly, or reacted to a socially fraught incident by hastily opening four scotch eggs by biting into them).

Arriving in Leonard's calm existence cartwheels a new colleague (the performer), a recent spring-loaded colleague who lightheartedly proposes to get rid of Leonard’s appalling boss (Paul Reid) at a fire practice. The swift movement noticeable is Leonard’s gentle world undergoing a shake-up.

In other scenes during the opening installment of the comedy not heavily plotted and more on what a modern audience could describe as “mood”, we are introduced to Hungry Paul’s dad (the ever-wonderful Lorcan Cranitch), a tired character who privately views, tapes and rewatches television game programs to amaze his loving spouse through his fact recall.

Shepherding us amidst this gentle kindness there is a voiceover that sounds very much like – and, indeed, very much is – the famous actress. Indeed, the star. If you are thinking, “certainly the use of such a famous actor contradicts the program's low-key style and at first acts merely as an interruption?” that's accurate. However, Roberts does a good job, and lines for example “Leonard's challenge is his absence of a look of sudden insight” contribute to ensuring that early misgivings fade if not full admiration, then certainly understanding.

Enough complaining at this time. The show's core is well-intentioned: the right place being “sitting on a park bench alongside similar shows, showing the duck it loves.” The program that ambles along in its sleeveless jumper, occasionally looking up at the stars, sometimes downward toward the ground, serenely certain that nothing is in life as uplifting as spending time alongside close companions.

Open the doors and windows within your world, a little, and welcome it inside.