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In a quiet suburb of the Irish capital, a man is standing outside his home, dressed in a vest and sharing his concerns. “I notice I'm becoming more silent. Harder to see,” remarks the protagonist, staring into the darkness. “One thing’s led to another and at this point I feel like if I don’t do something, I’ll just carry on in this quiet, unremarkable life.” His friend Paul, Leonard’s best companion, reflects on the idea. “There's no harm in that,” he answers, his dressing gown swaying with the wind. “Better than trying to make a mark and causing harm instead.”

For those weary by the noise and fast pace of modern television terrain, Leonard and Hungry Paul comes as a cozy wrap and a comforting beverage of Ribena.

Similar to its quiet characters, the series – a six-episode comedy written by Richie Conroy and Mark Hodkinson, based on the author’s understated story – takes a dim view on contemporary society; looking critically above its spectacles on everything in the way of unnecessary noise, quick actions or – perish the thought – too much drive. This show is, instead, a tribute to quiet people; a gentle tribute to people happy to pootle around below the parapet. But. Leonard (one more distinctly original turn by the actor) feels restless. He notices a creeping “need to open the entryways within my world … slightly.” The recent death of his parent has pulled the carpet out from under him and Leonard, a ghost writer, now realizes questioning the decisions that directed him to this point (unattached; sporting facial hair; creating several kids' reference books for an employer who ends emails saying “ciao for now”).

And so Leonard launches himself on a quest for personal satisfaction, with the slightly bolder Hungry Paul (the performer) acting as his close companion, guide and partner in a recurring gaming session that serves both as debate (“Is the pool warm due to children urinating, or do kids pee in it since it's warm?”) and safe space.

(Why “Hungry” Paul? No idea. The source of the moniker appears lost in history. Perhaps Paul once ate a sandwich in record time, or responded to a socially fraught incident by hastily opening several snacks by biting into them).

Into Leonard’s gentle world cartwheels a new colleague (Jamie-Lee O’Donnell), a fresh lively co-worker who lightheartedly proposes to kill Leonard’s appalling boss (the character) during the office fire drill. The rushing noise noticeable signals Leonard's peaceful routine undergoing a shake-up.

Elsewhere in the initial show of the comedy not heavily plotted and centered around what a modern audience may refer to as “atmosphere”, we meet the older generation (the ever-wonderful Lorcan Cranitch), a worn-out individual who covertly observes, records then replays daytime quiz shows to dazzle his devoted partner with his general knowledge.

Guiding the audience throughout this subtle warmth there is a voiceover who closely resembles – and actually is – the famous actress. Indeed, the star. In case you're considering, “surely the inclusion of a major Hollywood star clashes with the program's low-key style and starts off as just a distraction?” you're right. Nevertheless, the actress performs admirably, and dialogue for example “Leonard's challenge is his absence of an expression of discovery” help ensure that early misgivings fade though not complete approval, then at least acceptance.

But that’s enough grumbling for now. Leonard and Hungry Paul’s heart has good intentions: that place is “resting on a bench alongside similar shows, indicating its preferred bird.” The program that moves gently in its sleeveless jumper, sometimes gazing upward at the stars, sometimes downward at its feet, quietly confident that nothing is on Earth as uplifting as passing time with close companions.

Open the doors and windows of your life, a little, and allow it entry.