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In a peaceful neighborhood of Dublin, a person can be found in his driveway, wearing a vest and sharing his thoughts. “I notice myself getting quieter. More invisible,” states Leonard, looking into the darkness. “One thing’s led to another and currently I believe without a change, I’ll just carry on in this quiet, unremarkable life.” Hungry Paul, his only and only friend, considers these words. “There's no harm in that,” he answers, his dressing gown swaying gently. “Better than trying to make a mark and causing harm instead.”

For viewers weary by the chaos and fast pace of current streaming terrain, Leonard and Hungry Paul comes as a warm cover and warming mug of blackcurrant juice.

Similar to its quiet characters, this comedy – a six-episode comedy created by the writing duo, based on the author’s understated story – looks disapprovingly toward today's world; looking skeptically over its spectacles at anything related to disturbances, abrupt changes or – perish the thought – too much drive. The program is, instead, an ode to introversion; a subtle homage of those satisfied to pootle around out of the spotlight. But. Leonard (another distinctly original portrayal by the actor) feels restless. He senses an increasing “need to open the doors and windows within my world … a little.” The passing of his beloved mother has whisked the rug away from his feet and this young man, an anonymous author, now feels questioning the choices that have brought him to where he is (single; defensively moustached; creating a range of kids' reference books for an employer who concludes correspondence saying “ciao for now”).

Thus Leonard begins on a journey for emotional fulfilment, alongside his more outgoing friend Paul (Laurie Kynaston) serving as his close companion, guide and co-conspirator in a weekly gaming session that serves both as symposium (“Is the pool warm from kids relieving themselves, or do kids pee in it because it’s warm?”) and sanctuary.

(Why “Hungry” Paul? No idea. The source of the nickname is shrouded to the mists of time. Perhaps the postal worker previously devoured a snack in record time, or responded to an awkward situation by nervously peeling some food items with his teeth).

Entering Leonard's quiet life comes Shelley (the performer), a recent lively associate who lightheartedly proposes to eliminate Leonard’s appalling boss (Paul Reid) at a fire practice. The rushing noise audible signals Leonard's peaceful routine undergoing a shake-up.

Elsewhere during the opening installment of this program driven less by plot and more by what the under-30s may refer to as “atmosphere”, we are introduced to the older generation (the ever-wonderful the actor), a worn-out individual who secretly watches, saves and reviews daytime quiz shows to dazzle his adoring wife through his fact recall.

Leading the audience through all this gentle kindness is a narrator that sounds very much like – and actually is – the famous actress. Truly, the celebrity. In case you're considering, “certainly the use of a major Hollywood star clashes with the show's modest approach and starts off as just a distraction?” you're right. However, the actress performs admirably, and dialogue like “Leonard’s problem is that he lacks an expression of discovery” contribute to ensuring that initial doubts fade if not quite to appreciation, then at least acceptance.

Enough complaining at this time. Leonard and Hungry Paul’s heart is well-intentioned: that place is “resting on a bench alongside similar shows, pointing out the duck it loves.” This is a show that ambles along in its sleeveless jumper, sometimes gazing upward into space, occasionally down toward the ground, calmly assured that there is nothing in life as heartening as being with dear pals.

Open the doors and windows in your existence, a little, and let it in.