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In a quiet area of the city, a man is standing in his driveway, sporting a vest and voicing his concerns. “I feel my voice is fading. Harder to see,” says the protagonist, staring toward the stars. “Circumstances have evolved and now I feel like if I don’t do something, I’ll just carry on in this quiet, unremarkable life.” Paul, his only companion, considers the idea. “There's no harm in that,” he responds, his bathrobe swaying gently. “Preferable to striving for recognition only to wind up defacing it.”

For viewers weary by the chaos and rat-tat-tat of modern television terrain, this series arrives as a warm cover with a hot drink of a sweet cordial.

Like its quiet characters, Leonard and Hungry Paul – a half-dozen installment comedy developed by the writing duo, adapted from the novelist’s quiet 2019 novel – looks disapprovingly toward today's world; gazing critically through its spectacles toward anything that involves unnecessary noise, sudden movements or – goodness forbid – excessive aspiration. The program on the contrary, a tribute to quiet people; a gentle tribute to people happy to pootle around away from attention. However. The character (one more uniquely quirky turn from Alex Lawther) feels restless. He notices a growing “urge to throw open the openings within my world … just a bit.” The loss of his mother has yanked the floor away from his feet and the 32-year-old, an anonymous author, now feels reconsidering the decisions that directed him to where he is (single; defensively moustached; working on several educational volumes for an employer who concludes emails using the words “goodbye for now”).

Therefore Leonard begins an exploration for emotional fulfilment, accompanied by the somewhat braver Paul (the performer) acting as his close companion, guide and partner during their regular game night which acts as discussion (“Does the pool feel warm from kids relieving themselves, or do children urinate because it’s warm?”) and sanctuary.

(Why “Hungry” Paul? No idea. The beginning of the moniker seems forgotten in history. It could be that the postal worker previously devoured a sandwich very fast, or responded to a tense moment by nervously peeling four scotch eggs by biting into them).

Into Leonard’s gentle world cartwheels a new colleague (the performer), a recent spring-loaded colleague who cheerily offers to get rid of Leonard’s appalling boss (the character) at a fire practice. That whooshing sound you can hear is Leonard’s gentle world being turned upside down.

Elsewhere in the initial show of the comedy not heavily plotted and more by what younger viewers might call “vibes”, we are introduced to the older generation (the brilliant Lorcan Cranitch), a battered sofa of a man who privately views, tapes and rewatches daytime quiz shows to impress his adoring wife with his general knowledge.

Guiding viewers throughout this minor-key niceness there is a voiceover who closely resembles – and actually is – the Hollywood icon. Yes, the celebrity. If you are thinking, “surely the use of a big-name celebrity contradicts the series’ unshowy MO and starts off as just a diversion?” you're right. Nevertheless, Roberts does a good job, and dialogue such as “Leonard’s problem is that he lacks a look of sudden insight” contribute to ensuring that early misgivings give way if not full admiration, then at minimum tolerance.

Enough complaining for now. The show's core is well-intentioned: that place is “resting on a bench in the company of gentle comedies, indicating its favourite duck.” It’s a series that strolls leisurely wearing its simple clothes, sometimes gazing upward into space, sometimes downward at its feet, serenely certain that no experience is in life as heartening as passing time alongside close companions.

Throw open the portals of your life, slightly, and welcome it inside.